


The Forest

by SpinnersendSlytherin, ThestralHouseofBlack



Series: Blood Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addict Harry Potter, Angst, Anxiety, Auror Harry Potter, Choking, Drug Addiction, Erotica, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Potions, Recovery, Sexuality Crisis, Slash, Slow Burn, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Thestrals, Unicorns, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 88,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15591369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinnersendSlytherin/pseuds/SpinnersendSlytherin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThestralHouseofBlack/pseuds/ThestralHouseofBlack
Summary: Recovery isn't linear.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> We were so overwhelmed with the positive feedback on Part 1 (we literally read every comment to each other and fawned over every single kudos, we are so thankful to all of you who engaged! This fic was so incredibly personal to both of us, and we can't even express what it was like to get validation and people who identify with the themes we are dealing with) so we decided to release a little teaser of Part 2 (call it some fic foreplay, if you will). 
> 
> We're up to Chapter 16 of the 24 to finish this part, but we couldn't leave you too long on a cliffhanger like that, it's too cruel and we love you all too much. 
> 
> So, here we go - this is the start of Part 2! 
> 
> Get ready for slow slow slow burn, the evolution of Harry's addiction and Draco's intimacy issues (now with forced proximity!), gardening, forest lore and the best tropes around (enemies to friends? to lovers? - you have to read and find out!) 
> 
> If you're just coming across part 2, please do read part 1, I don't think it'll make very much sense without it, but as always, we caution you to mind the tags - we are serious about the dark themes we've mentioned. Make sure your support system is close, and feel free to always message or engage with us - we're always keen.
> 
> You can get at us here or on tumblr at ThestralHouseofBlack (Harry) and SpinnersendSlytherin (Draco). 
> 
> All our love, in the meantime, and enjoy!  
> \- Us

Prologue  
March 18, 2008 

Harry had been dreaming. He was shuffling along in the dark, the forest towering above him. The summer air, normally thick with the calls of birds and other forest dwellers, was deathly silent. It took him a moment before he recognized the small clearing he came across. It was here he had turned the resurrection stone - where his loved ones had returned to encourage him to let go - to die. 

Harry stood, breathing softly, considering the forest ahead. This is what he wanted. The quiet, the calm, the chance to go on to new adventures with those he loved. 

But what if they’re not there? His thoughts reeled as he remembered George’s pleading for Fred. What if it was eternity of searching this forest? Unable to see or speak to any of them again? 

Harry sighed. He would never know until he got there. He continued on from the clearing, just as he had that night, committed. 

_______________________

Harry was pulled back from his ethereal thoughts into something that felt far more real. More tangible. In fact, as the moments passed, he could feel himself laying on the floor. His hands brushed along the sheet that was over him and he realized, yet again, he was naked. 

Harry sighed, wondering if he would see Dumbledore again, Death personified, wondering if he’d have to talk about this. About why. Would he be angry at him? Disappointed? Did it matter? What if he didn’t come? Would he know what to do? 

His eyes fluttered open and he regarded the room in front of him. White. Stark white.

Okay, he thought, so far so good, but this is not King’s Cross Station. Harry rubbed his eyes and noticed the tension he suddenly felt, the ache of his muscles, his bones, his very being suddenly came rushing into his awareness. Surely the dead don’t feel pain, do they? Harry’s heart sped up a bit at the thought - was he cursed to spend the rest of eternity in pain rather? He shook his head and dismissed the thought. Don’t panic. Not yet, anyway. 

His eyes darted around the small room. The mat he lay on was adjacent to a small sofa, and on the other side, a simple fireplace. Next to him, lay a folded set of clothes and a pair of trainers, but not ones that Harry recognized. Behind him, there was a window sill. All about the room were little splashes of color - pink and blue and yellow, apparently stuck to various items and areas. Harry stood, rather shakily, his head spinning for a moment as a wave of nausea overcame him. 

This didn’t feel like last time, not at all. Last time was painless and easy and quiet. This time, his whole body hurt, his head was reeling, the world tipping back and forth around him, and, for fuck’s sake, he was sweating again. 

He pulled on the faded grey shirt, black pants and black jeans that had been left by the mat. Every movement was torturous, his stomach clenching and threatening revolt every time he leaned over. Putting on the trainers was a veritable nightmare. His glasses he found beneath a bit of the sheet that he must have kicked off. The only thing missing now was his wand. If he was dead, though, he supposed he didn’t really need one. He sighed and took another look around, unsure what to do next. 

Harry stumbled over to one of the little yellow squares stuck on the wall. 

“Your life is your own to live - you are only beholden to your own happiness” stared back at him. The pink square next to it read “I am doing what is right, what is good.”

Huh, he thought to himself. This may not be King’s Cross, but it seemed like a much kinder, sort of motivational waiting room. He felt a bit of comfort seep through the pain. How did he get to move on, though, if not take a train? He stopped on the last note in the row toward the kitchen, a blue one. 

“You are not your Dark Mark” was written in, what he now realised was, a familiar hand. Harry narrowed his eyes. 

The sound of the lock clicking and doorknob turning interrupted Harry’s ruminating on what the fuck could possibly going on. The door to Harry’s left swung open, revealing none other than Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy. 

His blonde hair was disheveled, his clothes more rumpled than usual. Harry had never actually seen him in such a disarray. 

“So. I’m not dead then.” Harry deadpanned, his voice scratchy, barely recognizable as his. His hands balled into fists at his sides. 

“No, I’m afraid I got to you first.” Draco answered, quieter than Harry had expected. Rage was building inside him, a close second was embarrassment, then terror. Malfoy knew. He wasn’t dead and Malfoy knew. He knew everything. Harry was shaking. He wanted to scream.

“Fuck” he managed to breathe out as Malfoy quickly closed the gap between them, grabbed his arm and apparated them away, not giving him a second longer to think on the absolute horrendous absurdity of the situation.


	2. Not a Prisoner

Not a Prisoner  
March 18, 2008

Harry had collapsed to his knees. They had landed in a small meadow, covered in the shoots of green, just peeking out beneath their new growth in the tepid sun of the clearing, ready for spring, fighting their way through the frosted ground. Just ahead of them, across the clearing, was what looked like a cabin, yet the roof was covered in the same small green stems, blending the small hut into the rocky hillside that rose up behind it. To the west, there was a large mass of bramble bushes and an overgrown well before the clearing relented and ancient and gnarled trees held sway over their territory, dark and twisted, yet full of small signs of life. 

It was several seconds before Harry registered that he was yelling. Screaming, really. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Was the first intelligible thing Harry managed to get out. “This isn’t happening. You stupid fuck. Where the fuck are we? Take me home. I didn’t want this. I need to go home.” Harry’s teeth almost felt as though they were chattering - he was on edge, his thoughts streaming right past his consciousness and directly out of his mouth, desperate to go back to his stash and back to his den, desperate to finish what he had set out to do. He didn’t want this, he wanted death. 

Malfoy didn’t say anything, he simply started walking toward the rundown little cabin, refusing to engage with Harry’s tirade. 

“How fucking dare you.” Harry hissed out as he scrambled to his feet. He was too angry, too lucid. He needed oblivion - he needed it. It was the only thing that had felt viable for weeks, months, now. His voice quavering, he caught up to Malfoy, tugging his shoulder to make him turn and face him. 

“I know I’m fuck up, Malfoy. I know. Just let me go home and die. I’m tired. You can gossip all about it once I’m gone - you can sell the story to the Prophet for all I care. Please.” 

Anger flared in Draco’s grey eyes and Harry realized he had hit a nerve. 

“Just give me my wand and let me go, Malfoy. You can’t keep me prisoner. I can’t live like this.” Harry held out his hand, unable to hide how much he was shaking. 

“Fine. Take your wand. I’m not making decisions for you, Potter. Apparate home to die, if that’s what you must do. I wouldn’t stay with someone I thought would sell me out to the highest bidder, either.” 

He looked sad, but Harry didn’t care. He snatched his wand from his hand and stomped off to the West, crashing his way through the thicket and into the trees, not once looking back. 

As he winds his way down a path through the underbrush, Harry is met with a withering chill that descends over his aching body like a cloak, quieting the fiery rage he had been consumed with. It was March, but winter still held the shadows, there were no signs of spring beneath the ancient boughs, and there was still snow on the ground. 

Harry raised his wand to cast a warming charm. Nothing happened. His magic must still be out, he realised with a grimace. There was no chance he could apparate if he couldn’t do the most basic of charms. He growled to himself in frustration, his whole body vibrating with rage, with fear, with the absolute shame of having to face Malfoy of all fucking people. He trekked deeper amongst the old, gnarled trees, their branches creaking and leaves fluttering down around him as the winter wind stirred their canopies. 

Harry paused. The anger had propelled him, but as his escape wore on and his mind quieted, his limbs felt heavier and heavier. He was fading. Exhausted. He tried another warming spell, but the Holly of his wand felt dead in his hands. He brushed away the nagging, panicky thoughts that it was gone for good, and stumbled on, his feet like lead weights. 

He shivered against the chill. He felt feverish - one moment flushing with heat and sweat dotting his forehead, running down his back, the next second covered in gooseflesh, violent shivers wracking his body. He felt weak and desperate, overwhelmed and overcome with shame. Shame, for even in these moments, lost in the forest, likely to freeze to death, all he could think of was getting back to the embrace of what he had left. It had felt so good. So soft and quiet and right. His brain latched onto this and drove him onward, his feet catching on roots as he nearly fell, the brush opening into a small glade amid a stand of Hawthorn and Blackthorn trees. 

Harry stopped, tilting his head back and looking up at the heavy grey sky. 

It was too much. Everything. He couldn’t even set out to die. And now, Malfoy knew his secret. He’d probably already owled the Ministry. He would’ve lost his job, and it was only a matter of time before the press caught wind. Oh, and how he’d be destroyed by them, eaten alive, ridiculed, demonised. And the worst part, it would all be true. He’d have nothing to hold him on the course, he’d have no legs to stand on in refuting their claims. They’d call him pathetic and weak and lawbreaking scum. And he was. He really was.

He’d be a disgrace. He was a disgrace. 

What would Ron and Hermione say? They’d know by now, if the Ministry had been informed. 

The thought of Hermione’s shocked, disappointed, then determinedly mothering face was enough to cause Harry to drop his head into his hands. They’d have to give Rose another godparent. There’s no way that he, Harry James Potter, heroin addict and suicidal fuckup, could be trusted with anything anymore. 

He lurched forward, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. 

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this,” he choked out, addressing the gaps between the trees, or perhaps the trees themselves. His eyes were blurry and tears were falling on his sallow cheeks. His scarred hands were clutching at the front of his shirt, the collar feeling tight, or maybe it was getting hard to breathe, or maybe it was all just suffocating him, stripping the air from his lungs. 

His stomach lurched, nausea rolling up from his abdomen to settle in his raw throat. 

“I wanted to be happy. I wanted to feel free.” He choked out, his fingernails leaving streaking red lines along his own throat. It was so hard to breathe. 

Harry sank down against a fallen tree, shivering openly, tears free falling from his swollen and puffy eyes. 

Why had Malfoy saved him? The thought struck him suddenly, without warning. What did he know about death? Harry felt guilty as soon as the thought materialized. He had read the reports of the bodies removed from Malfoy Manor, of the blood, of the dark magic that had taken on a life of its own there. 

Maybe Malfoy knew death, but he certainly would never understand what Harry was going through. It didn’t matter, Harry realized, as his vision began to fade, he was going to die out here in the cold, anyway. 

Harry heaved, vomiting nothing but bile, having no idea when he last ate anything. He leaned his head back against the fallen tree behind him, tasting blood in his mouth. He groaned, softly. 

“Just let me go already.” He pleaded, his eyes falling shut, his consciousness falling away as darkness closed in. Snow fell lightly in the clearing.


	3. A Small Victory

A Small Victory  
March 18, 2008

Well, Draco thought, that had gone just as bad as he and his inner boggart could have predicted. He was honestly surprised Harry hadn’t tried to murder him, or at least beat the shit out of him. He had been so mad, and then he just stomped off into the forest in a towering rage. The fucking forbidden forest, with no idea how far he was from anything. No winter clothes, no protection from the elements. 

Draco let out a yell of frustration. God damn it Harry Fucking Potter that insufferable PRAT. First, he couldn’t let Harry die because he had been the only one to know that he was in trouble, and now he was in the same fucking position, because no one out there knew he was wandering aimlessly through a malevolent and unforgiving forest. Maybe he would send a patronus to his friends, Draco reasoned. 

Draco paced the short length of the cottage a few dozen times before halting. He had felt in his pocket for a post-it note of hope but instead he felt the letter he had found next to Harry at Grimmauld Place. Pulling out the torn parchment he braced himself to read what Harry had anticipated to be his last words. 

_Hermione,_

__

_It’s ok if you don’t understand. I love you and Ron and Rose more than anything, and I know you have a beautiful, happy life ahead of you. Don’t waste time being sad._

____

_I’ve talked it over with Sirius. This is for the best._

_____ _

_I’ll be ok._

______ _ _

_\- Harry_

______ _ _

The simple letter had clenched a tight fist around Draco’s insides. 

______ _ _

He knew what he had to do, just as he knew when he read Harry’s file. He needed to go out and find Harry. He was convinced that Harry would try and punch his lights out, but he couldn’t just leave it like this. Maybe after Harry cooled off he would… what? What did Draco think this would accomplish? Well, if anything, he thought, perhaps he could postpone Harry’s suicide for another day.

______ _ _

There was nothing for it. He pulled on his layers and stomped out the front door to try and follow Harry’s footprints in the thin layer of old snow and detritus. God, he hoped Harry was okay. Frustration and anger was giving way to worry and slowly rising panic as he tramped through the thick woods. He was on the path that he didn’t recognize. Harry hadn’t even set off in the general direction of Hogwarts. The hot headed ass-kettle.

______ _ _

Thinking quickly, Draco stopped, turned back to look at the cottage, and cast a honing charm. At least, now his wand would know how to get him back to the cottage if he was out past dark. He really hoped he wouldn't be out past dark. Alone. In the forbidden forest. This was not a good start to his sabbatical. 6 hours in, and things were already tits up. 

______ _ _

Snow had begun coming down lightly. What if Harry got lost and died of hypothermia? He had maybe 3 hours of daylight left. How would he even begin to explain this to someone if he had Harry’s body on his hands to deal with? Draco did not want to think about it. 

______ _ _

He cast a warming charm on himself and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and face. This was not pleasant weather for someone who had just nearly died to be wandering around in. Fear licked at his insides. He both wanted to find Harry as soon as possible, and didn’t want to face him. It seemed, Harry was far easier to deal with when he was in a medically induced coma. Awake, furious, vulnerable, and embarrassed Harry in withdrawal from heroin was another bucket of flobberworms altogether. 

______ _ _

The leaves crunched underfoot and Draco scrutinized the path in front of him. Snow was beginning to obscure Harry’s footprints, and he had to take a deep breath and count to 10 to try and quell the looping image of Harry lying dead under a blanket of snow that was replaying in his mind over and over again. Maybe he disapparated? Probably not. Harry was probably too weak to disapparate such a long distance. And even if he could, there was the issue of his self-destructive behavior that had led him to a heroin-assisted-suicide. Draco wondered if he should alert Granger in the event he couldn’t find Harry. Or maybe Luna. This was her department, after all. 

______ _ _

Draco had been walking for nearly an hour when the path split and the snow had officially obscured the remainder of Harry’s trail. Fuck. He took a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to cry and laugh maniacally. It would be Potter that pushed him right over the edge into insanity. He rubbed his face roughly trying to warm his cheeks and hope for some inspiration. 

______ _ _

“Come on Draco.” He moaned to himself. “You stalked this prat for nearly seven years in school, use your inner Potter-Locating skills and find this nuisance of a man before he dies of exposure.” Finally opening his eyes he reassessed the two paths to look for signs of recent traversing. A twig snapped behind him and he whirled around. He had nearly forgotten that he was in a dangerous wilderness full of wild magical and non magical creatures that could easily kill him with no one being any the wiser. After staring into the thicket of trees he had recently exited before coming to the fork, he was shocked to see a thestral meander slowly out towards him, and behind it, her little foal. 

______ _ _

Odd. Draco thought. He knew there were plenty of thestrals in the forest and that they were essentially harmless, but the sight of their milky glass eyes staring through him made him feel a bit creeped out at the best of times. “Have you seen someone blundering about with the emotional range of a teaspoon?” He asked the thestral, stupidly. He felt compelled to break the silence, and talking to it seemed to make more sense than ignoring it. How do you ignore one of these things anyway? They look so ominous. 

______ _ _

The thestral just continued its slow ambling towards Draco. He watched as it passed by him so close that Draco had to take a step back to allow it forward on the path without brushing against him. As the little foal scrambled to keep up, it sniffed at Draco hopefully before moving along to follow its mother. At the fork, the thestral lifted its head to smell the air before choosing the path to the left. He watched it walk slowly before realizing something horrifying. 

______ _ _

Thestrals were drawn to the smell of blood. Were they being drawn towards Harry? Was he injured? Fuck. Maybe they were just smelling their next meal, but Draco didn’t want to chance that next meal being the body of the Golden Boy. He decided to hurry along the path after the thestrals. They didn’t seem to be too concerned that Draco scooted past them and ran ahead down the path. After 20 minutes of jogging, the path opened up into a little clearing with a few old fallen trees. On the other side of a rather large log at the opposite side of the clearing, Draco saw the familiar site of a rats nest of hair slumped against a fallen tree. 

______ _ _

Oh thank fuck, was Draco’s first thought. Fuck, not again, was his second. 

______ _ _

Draco darted over to Harry to check his vitals. He was freezing, there was a puddle of foamy bile next to him, and he had had a nasty nose bleed that was drying down the front of his face and chest. No wonder the thestrals were interested. 

______ _ _

Draco felt his pulse, it was racing. Harry’s withdrawal was going to be ongoing for a while and he wasn’t surprised that Harry passed out after a bit of exertion. He cast a scourgify on the blood to keep the thestrals and other wild animals at bay, then the strongest warming charm he could before drying Harry’s clothes. After the basics were taken care of, he braced himself to wake Harry up. With the probability of another row pretty high he decided not to have his face a mere six inches away from Harry and backed up before casting enervate. 

______ _ _

Harry moaned and furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t open his eyes. Draco felt stupid for not bringing some potions with him, he must be in a lot of pain. But Draco had left in too much of a hurry. 

______ _ _

“Potter?” He asked warily.

______ _ _

“Mph.” Was all Harry managed. 

______ _ _

“Potter, what happened?”

______ _ _

“Fell over.” he mumbled, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and drawing his knees up to his chest. “Why are you here?”

______ _ _

“You think I was going to let you wander off into the fucking forbidden forest in a snowstorm in your state? How much of an arsehole do you think I am?”

______ _ _

“Enough of an arsehole to pitch up at all.” He slung. 

______ _ _

Draco sighed. “You can hate me all you want Potter, but I’m not going to be complicit in this.”

______ _ _

“I couldn’t disapparate.” Harry said after a long pause. He still hadn’t looked at Draco. “I tried to disapparate.”

______ _ _

“I suspected as much. Your magic has probably taken a huge hit.” he said, risking moving a little closer to Potter. 

______ _ _

He finally looked up at Draco. “I can’t use it at all.” his face was blank. Resigned. 

______ _ _

“What do you mean ‘at all’?” Draco asked. 

______ _ _

Harry had a pinched and sick look on his face. “Like it’s gone. Couldn’t cast my patronus, could disapparate, couldn’t cast a warming charm, nothing.” He sighed heavily, like this admission had been painful. “Then I got dizzy, puked and then I don’t remember.”

______ _ _

“Can you stand? Do you think you could walk?” Draco asked. He didn’t want to risk disapparating them both, Harry was obviously unstable, yet he was feeling antsy to get back to the cottage before dark and they only had just over an hour of light left. He heard the thestrals enter the clearing behind him. 

______ _ _

“Yeah, then you can apparate me home.” It was a statement, an imperial decree, and Draco felt his alarm bells going off. 

______ _ _

“No.” Draco said with wide eyes. 

______ _ _

“No?” Harry asked acidly. “You can’t just keep me here, Malfoy!” He spit the name Malfoy at him like an insult and then suddenly Harry was furious again. All sleepy confusion gone. Just rage in his eyes. He looked like he was about to rip Draco’s throat out if he got near enough.

______ _ _

“You tried to kill yourself today, twice! You’re clearly incapable of making responsible informed decisions for yourself at the moment!” Draco yelled, getting to his feet, and gesticulating wildly. “Your behavior is erratic, and you’re clearly trying to get back to your hovel to use again, where you will most likely die as a result. So, no.” He took one more step back for good measure. He didn’t feel like getting into a brawl just now.

______ _ _

Harry just gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a pissed off goldfish, not able to find the right insult to throw at him. “Just fucking take me back!” He eventually yelled. He was clearly too weak to actually attack Draco, but he could see the consideration Harry was giving it.

______ _ _

“No!”

______ _ _

“Well I’m not going with you to your stupid fucking cabin. I cant believe you fucking kidnapped me and brought me here of all places! Why the fuck are we in the forbidden forest, anyway?” Harry was turning a blotchy shade of purple with anger and indignation.

______ _ _

“Yeah, well, I can’t believe no one at the hospital picked up what was going on with you and sent you home with orders for bed rest, but here we are!” Draco finished dramatically, indicating how unbelievable their predicament was, completely ignoring Harry’s second question. 

______ _ _

Harry just glared at Draco. “I’m not coming with you, Malfoy.”

______ _ _

“You have literally two options Potter,” Draco started, “come with me to my stupid fucking cabin where I can help you finish withdrawing safely, or stay here and freeze to death and let the thestrals eat you.” He finished pointing over his shoulder with his thumb at the two thestrals that were watching the scene with quiet interest. “That’s it.” Draco held his eyes for what felt like an uncomfortably long time.

______ _ _

Eventually Harry glanced past Draco towards the thestrals, eyebrows still furrowed in anger, and mouth in a hard line. After a beat he looked up at Draco, something shifting subtly in his face. Something that looked a lot like fear. 

______ _ _

They just looked at one another. Harry seemed to be examining him with a look of deep concentration, the lines on his face drawn into a serious glower. 

______ _ _

“What if I can’t do it.” He asked, looking away. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms around them, curling into himself as tightly as possible. 

______ _ _

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Draco finally said after a pause. His insides twisting violently at the vulnerability of Harry’s position. If he were in Harry’s situation, he too would be weighing the pros and cons of allowing thestrals to eat his body in the woods, rather than try and cope with the reality of what he was being faced with. 

______ _ _

Draco took a deep steadying breath. He was a Slytherin, and he knew what he would need if he were in Harry’s shoes. He would need an offering, a show of solidarity, a fuck up for a fuck up, tit for tat. He had seen Harry in a moment of despair, of vulnerability, and he would have to let Harry see a part of that in himself before he had a hope of convincing Harry to live for another day. He knew the man was too seriously considering staying to die in the woods, alone, as he intended to do in Grimmauld Place. Draco couldn’t give up yet.

______ _ _

“I tried to kill myself in 8th year.” Draco said evenly. Harry just tilted his head slightly in response, considering the statement. He rolled up his sleeve to show his dark mark and the long scar that stretched along it from his wrist to the inner crook of his elbow. “It was during Christmas holiday at the manor. Pansy found me. She was so pissed off that I had asked her to spend Christmas with me then decided to kill myself anyways, that she moved to France. We communicate exclusively through holiday greeting cards now.” 

______ _ _

“But why do you have a scar? Couldn’t they fix that?” Harry asked as if he was solving a riddle instead of discussing death. 

______ _ _

“Oh, my mother refused to take me into the hospital.” He told him, as he recovered his arm. “She thought it would make us look bad if people found out, make us seem weak after everything that had happened. It’s very unbefitting of a Malfoy to do something so plebeian as wrist slitting. I mean, I didn’t even use magic.” Draco smirked without humor, and crossed his arms. “So, she called a private healer who could be discreet, but by the time he got there he couldn’t do anything about the scar. Once I came to, she acted as though nothing had happened. Like everything was fine. Like her son hadn't just tried to off himself in the rose garden.” Harry just stared back without comment. 

______ _ _

They looked at one another for a long while.

______ _ _

“The rose garden, really?” Harry asked, breaking the silence. “How dramatic.”

______ _ _

Draco rolled his eyes. “Quite.” He said, examining his fingers. Draco weighed his words before speaking again. “What I’m trying to say, is that you’re not the only one who fell down after the war and didn't want to get back up again.” Draco didn’t look up to meet Harry’s eyes.

______ _ _

They sat in silence again for what felt like an eternity. Draco resisting the urge to chivy Harry into making a decision because he was feeling antsy about the amount of daylight they had left. But he knew this silence was heavy with real deliberation and he didn’t want to interrupt Harry’s processing by being impatient. 

______ _ _

Harry eventually looked up at Draco and just stared at him. It felt like he was being picked apart piece by piece and examined for faults. “Why are you doing this?” Harry asked none too gentle. 

______ _ _

Draco weighed his words. “Like I said, I can’t be complicit in this. Call it my duty as a healer, call it the fact that you’ve saved my ass a fair few times, or call it my poor decision making skills that I do stupid shit when you’re involved. You choose.”

______ _ _

Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t press it. He just sat there fidgeting with the twigs and wet leaves strewn around him.

______ _ _

Draco’s restraint finally broke. “Well if you’re done pondering the meaning of life, we’ve got about 45 minutes until dark, and it’ll take us twice that long to get back.”

______ _ _

“What if I decided I want to be eaten by thestrals?” Harry asked, a bit too seriously. 

______ _ _

“Well then I’d say you’re a bit of a dick for not telling me sooner so I could get back before dark.” Draco said, not being able to resist goading Harry.

______ _ _

He thought he saw Harry’s mouth twitch in response. “You’re a right git, you know that?” He said, with only half the amount of venom. 

______ _ _

“Yes, and you’re a right ray of sunshine, are you?” He raised his eyebrows in question. 

______ _ _

Harry sighed heavily, the fight bleeding from his body, his shoulders slumping. “Fine.” He said. “I’ll come to your stupid fucking cabin.”

______ _ _

“Well thank merlin’s sagging testicles for that. Let’s go, then.” Draco said running his hand over his face in relief.

______ _ _

Harry looked awkward and embarrassed again. “I don’t feel too great.”

______ _ _

“I’m sure you don’t.” Draco said, kindly. “I’ll help you get there, don’t worry about it.”

______ _ _

He walked closer to Harry, no longer fearing physical retribution, and held out his hand to help him up. Harry looked at the proffered hand and seemed to consider rejecting the offer of help, but eventually he took Draco’s hand and was slowly hauled to his feet. 

______ _ _

Harry looked like a wreck, and seemed wobbly on his feet. It seemed he was running on pure adrenaline and panic when he left the cottage, and now he had no fuel left. He clutched at Draco’s arm for support as he tried to straighten himself out to begin walking. Draco noticed he shivered slightly, and he pulled off his hat and scarf and began shoving them onto Potter’s wasted frame. 

______ _ _

“Fuck off, I’m fine.” Harry tried to protest. 

______ _ _

Draco just clicked at him disapprovingly, taking advantage of Harry’s weakened state to firmly wrap the scarf around him. Without warning he pulled out his wand and cast another drying and warming charm on Harry. “Let me know when you need another warming charm.” He said as Harry yelped in shock. 

______ _ _

“Jeez Malfoy, warn me next time will you?”

______ _ _

Draco didn’t respond. He just looped his arm through Harry’s, trying to make it seem like a totally ordinary thing that they often did, so Harry wouldn’t feel anymore awkward than he needed to, and they began the slow walk back to the cottage. 

______ _ _

As they passed the thestrals, Draco nodded his thanks and brushed his hand along the snout of the foal, Harry didn’t comment. The thestrals watched him walk along the path and out of site. 

______ _ _

Night had begun to fall by the time they reached the fork in the path. Fuck, Draco thought, at this rate it would take them another two hours in the dark before they made it. Harry had to walk slowly, there was nothing for it. He had had to stop twice already to lean against a tree, to calm the buzzing in his ears and fend off the urge to dry heave. He really didn’t look good. This foray into the wilderness was probably the last thing he needed on his precarious path to recovery. 

______ _ _

“I have a suggestion.” Draco announced, when dusk had settled around them and Harry had stopped for a third time. 

______ _ _

“What?” Harry breathed.

______ _ _

“How about I levitate you there? I can conjure a stretcher, we do it at St. Mungo’s all the time.” Draco suggested calmly, channeling his inner Severus, knowing this suggestion could make Harry feel angry and overly self aware again.

______ _ _

But, apparently the gods were smiling down on Draco. That, or Harry was feeling even more fucked than he looked, because he just shrugged his acquiescence and said, “Sure. Whatever.”

______ _ _

Trying not to let on how relieved this made him, Draco turned his wand on Harry, whispered the spell, and watched as Harry floated off the ground and tipped back to be wrapped snugly onto the stretcher. 

______ _ _

“Well this is fucking weird.” Harry mused, tiredly, almost smiling. 

______ _ _

“I’m sure it is.” Draco did smile a little. “Let me know if you’re feeling motion sick and need to stop. Maybe you can even sleep a bit if I keep it still enough.”

______ _ _

Harry just grunted in acknowledgement. He had already closed his eyes and nestled back into the spell holding him up. After feeling fairly confident that the spell work was steady, Draco began jogging towards the cottage. Finally, they were making progress. 

______ _ _

45 minutes later, Draco was panting and sweating as they came through the trees in front of the cottage. He carefully lowered a very groggy, also sweating Potter, who grunted a little at the contact with the ground. Stumbling as Harry stood on shaky legs, Draco helped him slump up the steps to the front door. 

______ _ _

As soon as they walked in the house, Draco lit a fire in the grate and began peeling off his coat. Harry followed warily behind, stopping in front of the bunk beds that Draco had transfigured. 

______ _ _

“Bunk beds? Really? What are we, twelve?” Harry was going for scathing, but not having enough energy to get there. 

______ _ _

Draco just snorted as he added logs to the fire and boiled a kettle for tea. 

______ _ _

“I call top bunk.” Harry said, a hint of challenge beneath his exhaustion. 

______ _ _

“What are you, twelve?” Draco countered, enjoying the snipping. He didn’t really care honestly. Harry could be top bunk if it would keep him from running off into the woods again. 

______ _ _

Harry snorted in response, then his quiet voice broke through the clinking of tea cups and spoons, “Was that story real? Or did you just tell me that to get me out of the forest?”

______ _ _

Draco paused his movements for a moment, not that surprised by the question, but didn't turn around. “It was real.” He almost whispered. Harry didn't respond, and Draco resumed his fiddling with the teapot when he heard the creaking of the bunk beds as Harry climbed up and collapsed onto the mattress. Draco glanced over at the beds, he hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes or take the scarf and hat off. 

______ _ _

“Tea?” Draco asked quietly, feeling it would be rude not to offer. But there was no response. Harry had passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

______ _ _

Draco grabbed his night things and went to change in the small wash closet in the corner of the cottage and do his evening ablutions. When he came back out, the room was feeling warmer and it was filled with the soft sound of Harry’s breathing. It was oddly soothing. 

______ _ _

He drank his tea, conjured a blanket to cover Harry with, then climbed into his own bunk, thinking that maybe today hadn’t been a total disaster. He wondered what tomorrow would be before giving in to his own exhaustion and falling asleep.

______ _ _


	4. Two Masters of the House of Black

Two Masters of the House of Black  
April 2nd, 2008 

He was in the forest again, but it was warm, like summer, and smelled as though it had just rained, the ferns curling around bases of trees that jutted up toward the softening afternoon sky. He could hear their soft breathing and rustling of leather wings, of hooves on the damp forest floor. His hands dropped down to the bucket in front of him, searching around in the half congealed mess, the powerful smell of metal greeting his movements. His fingers finally settled on a half slab of ribs from deep in the pail before him. He held it out, dripping, for the nearest thestral, who pinned their ears back and sniffed it, a long tongue curling out to lick around the bony edge. It grabbed the piece from him, crunching the bones in its teeth, stepping up closer to the bucket. 

It’s ears flicked forward and Harry reached into the bucket again, finding a ragged bit of flank. The thestral was close enough now that he had barely brought it up out of the bucket before it was being wolfed down. The thestrals lips and nose bumped up against his hand, surprisingly soft and gentle. A tongue snaked out and licked the blood from his hands. 

“You’re not just death, are you?” Harry asked, smiling as the velvety black lips nuzzled into his palm. There was a snort of hot air into his hand and Harry laughed. He watched as the thestral licked his hands clean. 

More thestrals gathered in the background, eager for their turns, antsy with the smell of blood so heavy in the air. 

____________________

Harry opened his eyes slowly, the dream fading instantly. The dried herbs hanging above him smelled sweet, and it instantly made him feel sick. Why did he have to take the top bunk? 

Climbing up and down to dash to the tiny loo to sick up every few hours was actual torture, but he’d be damned if his pride would allow him to voice his weakness and ask Malfoy to swop with him. 

Malfoy. 

That fucking git. 

Yes, he had saved his life. Twice. He’d nursed him through the worst few days of his life - when he had openly sobbed, convinced the pain would eat him alive - he’d fed him and helped him change his clothes when he was too weak to do anything for himself. 

They’d spent those days mostly in silence, Harry taking whatever potions and food Malfoy offered - he was still angry, more more at himself now than anything else. 

Malfoy was a fucking enigma, but at least he didn’t make Harry feel bad for his many needs. 

He rolled on his side to escape the sweet smell that threatened his tentative gastrointestinal integrity. Malfoy noticed his movements from across the room. 

“Breakfast, Potter.” 

Harry clambered down into their tiny living space, scrubbing his face and rubbing away the sleep from his eyes. 

Malfoy slid a lime green potion across the small table in Harry’s direction, part of their morning breakfast ritual. Harry had never asked what it was, it just usually made him warm and sleepy, and it helped push away the most intolerable of the symptoms. 

“I…” Harry started, unsure of himself for a moment, then pressing on. “I’m not sure I need it today.” 

His voice was rough with lack of use, but he finished, rubbing his hand along the back of his head, musing with the birds nest of hair absently, obviously feeling self conscious. He was standing, not so dizzy, his thoughts not so frantic, not sweating, it seemed like the day to try. 

Malfoy looked up at him, his face impassive, expression unreadable. “Good. then I’ll need your help today with something.” He replied, simply. 

Harry was almost already regretting letting on he was feeling better, but he sighed and let it go - Malfoy had done so much for him already, the least he could do would be to lend a hand where he could. 

Harry took the offered tea and toast silently, staring at the small window in the kitchen, hints of blue sky and deep green trees beyond. 

“What day is it?” Harry asked, mouth half full of the buttered rye. 

“April 2nd.” Malfoy answered, gingerly sipping his tea. 

“Shit.” Harry said, his newfound feelings of tentative ease evaporating in an instant. He had been out for two weeks. He wasn’t there to comfort Ron and Molly and Arthur on the twin’s day. He swallowed hard, tears bubbling up with the guilt. 

He stared into his tea, his hand wrapped around the warm mug. 

“Ron will be okay. He has Granger.” 

Harry’s head snapped up at Malfoy’s softly spoken words. His eyes narrowed as he stared across the table. 

“The way you had planned things, you wouldn’t be there anyway, Potter. No need to let the guilt eat you up now.” 

“What do you know about it, Malfoy?” harry hissed, his hackles raised, his shoulders tightening with the anger. 

“I know you were going to die before you were going to mention to those same people you treat with such care that you couldn’t handle anything yourself. That you needed their help.” Malfoy replied calmly, meeting Harry’s stare. 

Harry let his statement hang in the air between them. Nothing he had said was false. 

“Come on.” Malfoy said, standing up and vanishing the crumbs left from their meal. 

“We’ve got work to do.” 

____________________

 

It was hours later in the garden before they spoke again. 

“How did you get into Grimmauld Place?” 

Harry’s voice carried across the little thicket they were trying to clear, which had obscured ancient stone rectangles that dotted the little area around the house. It was all thick with thistles and other weeds, grasses and wiry stemmed forest growers that were adamant they belonged. Harry hadn’t realized it was a garden until they had pulled apart the mass of blackberry bramble that had taken over the paths between the two closest raised beds. 

It had been two hours since breakfast, and Harry had ruminated on many things in the time they had been hacking and chopping and pulling away at the under and overgrowth, much of it circling back to what he had made of his life, of his home. He couldn’t shake the desire to go back, even if he could logically understand it was just the desire to use. 

He was exhausted, covered in scrapes, scratches, even bubotuber pus, and had needed a moment to sit in the shade by the edge of the cabin. He collapsed with a heavy sigh, leaning back against the wall beneath the overhang of living roof, where little strangler vines stretched toward the ground below. 

He knew Malfoy had heard him, as he had stilled from where he was trying to uproot and replant an old and rather delicate looking aconite plant. Harry watched him, his back bent over the bed, hair stuck up in indelicate ways, as it never was when they were at school. He looked sweaty and rather out of his element, and Harry liked that his posh exterior was easily tarnished. 

“I’m a Black by blood. Technically, I’m the Black heir, the house belongs to me.” Malfoy didn’t bother turning around, but he didn’t return to fussing over the aconite, so Harry took it as an invitation. 

“Sirius left it to me.” Harry couldn’t keep the venom out of his voice, even if he knew Malfoy was, at least partially, right. 

Malfoy didn’t answer, but leaned back on his heels, his nice trousers covered in the rich black dirt of the little hillock the cabin sat upon. Harry could see a sigh raise and lower his shoulders. 

“He probably shouldn’t have, seeing as what I’ve done with it.” The words were out of his mouth and hanging in the space between them before Harry could stop himself. He turned away to look out across the little meadow, his heart suddenly heavy with reality. He didn’t deserve Sirius’s house, or his legacy. Fuck, he definitely didn’t deserve him sacrificing his life for… this. 

“I will sell Malfoy Manor as soon as it comes into my name.” Malfoy stated, still turned away from Harry. 

“Why?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. He knew it had been a hellhole, but he never guessed Malfoy would give up all that family history and whatnot with such ease. He was supposed to be the proudest of the purebloods, lording over his magical manor and fortune, siring heirs and hoarding priceless dark artifacts. 

“You think you have sullied the House of Black? Voldemort lived in that house. He tortured, then murdered people there. I wouldn’t have chosen it, but I will always feel the guilt of not being able to stop it. I can barely stand to go see my mother for ten minutes once a month.” 

Malfoy stood and dusted his hands over his pants, barely making a dent in the dirt that covered them. 

“Come on then. Let’s break for tea.” Malfoy closed the conversation and stalked back into the cabin. 

Harry was grateful, gardening without magic was much harder than he remembered, and he definitely needed a real break, with some sugar, and he was oddly looking forward to Malfoy’s strange teas. Each morning was something new and different, odd flavors and sensations that Harry was entirely unfamiliar with. Each evening, however, was the same, something that made him warm and comfortable climbing in to the tiny mattress of the top bunk. He would have to ask him about it sometime. 

He stood, stretching his arms high above his head, groaning with the stiffness that had settled into his bones. His mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of the temptations that lay far outside the forest, but they were so far out of his reach, and thoughts of this new Malfoy with his own struggles quieted them significantly. 

Harry followed him inside, and sat down at the kitchen table, watching Malfoy busy himself with the tea. He wondered what he and his mother discussed when they met once a month. The weather? Something pureblood and uptight and full of hidden meanings in the repartee? 

A sudden tapping on the window broke Harry away from his thoughts, and he looked up to see an owl nibbling at the corner of the pane. Malfoy glared at it and shooed it away, nearly knocking over the kettle in his haste to get the bird away. 

“But it had a letter, Malfoy - why’d you chase him off?” Harry asked, completely bewildered at why Malfoy would be shunning communication. He had seen him answer an owl perfectly happily just the other morning in one of his rare moments of lucidity. 

Malfoy brought two cups of tea to the table and sat down across from Harry. “It wasn’t for me - it’s an owl looking for you. I’ve been chasing them away every day since you’ve gotten here.” Malfoy’s voice was even as he eyed him, measuring his response. 

“Oh.” Harry said suddenly, taken aback by the immense gratitude he felt. Malfoy was right, he wasn’t ready to deal with anyone asking him anything - he wasn’t ready to give answers and talk about what was going on. No. He didn’t want to. Anxiety gripped his stomach and his hands grasped the warm mug gratefully. 

“If the owl returns with the letter, there will be two reasons. One, you’re dead. Two, you’re somewhere unreachable or untraceable. With Ministry owls like that, odds are on the former, not the latter.” Malfoy supplied, still watching Harry closely. Harry looked up and caught his gaze. 

“So, they think I’m dead?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing yet. 

“Yes.” Malfoy said simply. He took a sip of the scalding tea and made a face as if he had forgotten it would be so remarkably hot. “I didn’t want to take the letters for you to read, in case you wanted… solitude. While you figure things out, anyway.” 

Harry grimaced. He was glad Malfoy hadn’t accepted the letters - it would be easier to not feel obligated to answer anyone’s inquiries. He didn’t revel in the idea that his friends thought he was dead, but he needed the space. The time. To… figure things out? What did that even mean? At least he wasn’t beholden to anyone but himself. And Malfoy, though he didn’t much count. 

“Thanks.” Harry finally said. Relieved, for the moment. 

Harry leaned back in his chair, the ancient, spindly thing creaking ominously beneath him. He wondered what the Ministry would do. 

The chair snapped back down as Harry’s mouth flew open, staring at Malfoy. 

“Malfoy. Grimmauld Place. What if they look for me there? I mean, I told Hermione and Ron I had bought a new apartment somewhere, so maybe they haven’t gone yet, but … hell, if they go… I mean. I left it... I left a note even.” His mind was racing. He grabbed at his hair and stood, pacing in the tiny area between the table, fireplace and bed. Nausea was piling up behind his tongue. He wanted to run. 

Malfoy looked back at him evenly, his cup of tea still between his hands, seated at the table. “Well, the wards were quite strong, it will take them quite a while to get in, when they do eventually think to check there. That house has a particularly vicious nature, I can’t see it giving in without a fight.” He raised an eyebrow, almost to himself as he sipped at the tea again. 

“And I took your note.” He finished, producing a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and laying it on the table, not meeting Harry’s shocked gaze. 

“Why?” Harry finally managed, completely taken aback, and recoiling into himself at the memory of writing it. 

“To help remind myself that even the Savior of the wizarding world is also human.” Malfoy shrugged. “Do you want it back?” He asked, finally looking up into Harry’s bewildered expression. 

“No.” Harry pulled the word from deep within himself. It came out as a rough, rather forceful sound, full of emotion - defiance? 

This was it, he thought, dropping his shoulders down, this is what he was waiting for - somewhere buried within he had felt an old, aching longing for himself. Somewhere, there were hints of the courageous, stubborn, lion-hearted boy who defied everyone’s expectation. Harry wanted to feel that again, to feel bold and brave and firey with determination. He wanted himself back. 

To be himself, but to feel… human. He could be flawed and scared and struggling and still be Harry. Malfoy, in his own way, had given Harry permission to exist as both, and to not be judged for it. 

In the forest, coming back from the thestrals in the clearing, yeah, he had decided not to die, but he had been waiting these few weeks to decide if he did really want to live. And there was a difference, one he hadn’t thought about until that moment, with his letter of goodbye on the table and the one man he would’ve never trusted with anything, painstakingly nursing him back from the edge, not holding him to anything, not asking for anything. 

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, feeling the weight of everything pull down on his skull, his thoughts pooling, circling around what he would need to do, the impossible mountain he would need to climb. He still felt bound by the incomprehensible urges and desires that gnawed at his edges, reminding him over and over of what he needed, what he wanted, those had not dissipated. Instead, mixing with those poisonous tendrils were glimmers of determination, of resilience. 

He groaned, not realizing that Malfoy’s eyes were still on him, overwhelmed with ideas of his next step. He wanted to go to Grimmauld Place, but not to use the drugs he had left there, to get rid of them, for good. 

He held to his moment of strength as he thought through what that would take. He would have to resist, reject, refute and deny the parts of himself that were sick with desire - he would have to fight for every moment to be able to leave Grimmauld Place alive. 

Harry felt the familiar prickling in his skin, the beads of sweat forming down his back, the buzzing sensation licking at his shoulders, but he held tight to the word he had conjured. No. He wanted to live. 

“I need to go to Grimmauld Place.” Harry intoned, not yet opening his eyes, but enjoying this new sensation of connectedness to his own body - as if he felt more in control of the different pieces of him, and it was satisfying in a way that the numbness and the flaccid apathy of opiates couldn’t mimic. 

“Why?” 

Harry opened his eyes and regarded Malfoy, both frustrated that he had to explain something so incredibly intangible and ethereal and that he had only just barely worked out for himself moments ago, and grateful he hadn’t just said no, assuming that he was going there to fuck himself up again. 

“I want to get rid of it. Everything. My stash, my kit, everything that reminds me of…” Harry tried to gesture at something, not finding the words to describe what he wanted to call his love affair with a pain free life, his dalliance with death (part two), his addiction, his habit, his disease? He didn’t have the language for this.

“And, I’ll need your help…” Harry finished, meeting his gaze, hoping he could trust Malfoy with this. 

Malfoy nodded. “Ok.” He said simply, finishing his tea. 

_______________________

They apparated together as evening fell, Harry gripping Malfoy’s arm, his nerves on a knife edge, stumbling slightly as they landed on the stoop of the familiar face brick townhouse - the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black towered above them. He swallowed down the trembling misgivings that threatened to spill out of him, and stepped up to the giant ironwood door. He had been imagining this all day. He had reassured himself that he could do it. 

He gazed at the forest scene before him, the thestrals peeking out from behind trees whose boughs moved softly in an imagined breeze. It was beautiful, ornate, delicate, even. It was lovely, but Harry was overwhelmed with thoughts of all of the nights he had slipped into this hidden fortress to seek out solitude, to carve away at himself. His hand was shaking as he reached toward the door, his eyes drifting up to the little serpent he had befriended on those very same nights of abandon. 

_“Welcome back, half master of the House of Black.”_ Hissed the little Berg Adder, shimmering into life, tongue flicking into the air. _“You’ve brought the other master - the true keeper of the family Black. The death-beasts must be pleased.”_

Harry looked down, and the thestrals had indeed come to the foreground of the forest scene, as if waiting for Malfoy to lay claim to them. The carvings themselves seemed to shimmer with gold, the outlines of their wings looking as though they had been dipped in filigree, ornate patterns dripping into a softened existence on the dark planes of wood. 

_“He is here to help me reclaim my life.”_ Harry whispered back, too quietly for Malfoy to hear, knowing that Malfoy couldn’t understand what he said anyway, but not wanting to share in that reality with anyone else just yet. 

_“A noble man, indeed.”_ Said the little snake in reply, the lock clicking open and the heavy door sliding away from his outstretched hand. 

He turned, looking over his shoulder, seeing Malfoy standing at the edge of the stoop, not wanting to interfere, looking decidedly uncomfortable. 

“Come on then.” Harry said, “we’re waiting for you.” 

He took a deep breath, imbibing the familiar smell of dark magic and dust, and walked through the entry, Malfoy close behind him. As they crossed the threshold, Harry was shocked to see the house light up, no longer the dark and secret passages around single lit lamps that Harry had become so used to - he could gaze down the familiar hallways unhindered. It felt different, lighter, more clear? It was as though they were being welcomed, and Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it - should he be jealous that the house was so fond of Malfoy? 

He supposed it didn’t really matter, the old pureblood magic had a thing for blood, and Sirius had long been burned from the family tree before Harry had been entrusted with the dilapidated wizarding home. He wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to come here again after this was done, let alone try and reclaim the place from Malfoy. Tonight, the only thing he wanted to do was make sure the lingering image of his cache wasn’t hanging over his head, reminding him it was waiting for him, should he succumb to a moment of weakness. 

That, and ensure if anyone searched Grimmauld Place he wouldn’t be outed to the public. If he was going to start on his climb back from ruin and start finding himself again, he didn’t want to have to deal with everyone in the wizarding world knowing all of his secrets - he would tell his close friends when he was ready, he had reasoned. He would tell them when he felt strong enough, like he could handle their questions, or if they were insensitive, it wouldn’t break him. He would tell them when he could tell them not to worry so much. And things would be ok. Everything would be ok. Harry held on to this little fantasy of normalcy and replayed it in his mind, using it to push back against the aching in his bones, the thrumming sensation radiating up from his toes into his chest, a burning, salivating knowing that what he wanted more than anything was just upstairs, waiting for him. 

Harry had been lost in his thoughts, standing at the foot of the staircase, breathing heavily and looking up at the landing above. Several minutes had passed, and he hadn’t noticed Malfoy watching him closely. Watching the way he flexed his hands into fists, rocked onto his toes, pulled his shoulders up and down. The way he kept having to swallow back the saliva pooling in his mouth, and how his adams apple would pull down next to the visible pulsation in his jugular notch - and that there was sweat collecting in the dips where his skeleton protruded against his wasted flesh. 

Harry startled as he felt a soft presence at his left wrist. Looking down to see Malfoy’s hand nudging against him. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, his grey eyes calm and collected, a refuge in the dark chaos of the house where Harry had died. 

Harry nodded, his foot lifting up and onto the first step, propelled by the moment of reprieve from his eddying thoughts. 

“I’ll be right behind you.” Malfoy said, his voice steady and even, washing over Harry’s building panic, soothing him. Even if he lost control, even if he fucked up, Malfoy was here. He wasn’t going to let him do something horrendously stupid. Harry let himself think of that while he climbed the stairs. For the first time, he was doing this with someone, he wasn’t alone. 

Harry paused when they reached the landing with Regulus’s room. He had idolized the man when he had heard his story, he had held him up as brave, as a silent martyr, a hero. But he wasn’t, was he? He was just alone. And he made the choices he thought he had to make because he had nowhere else to turn, no one to help share the burden. No one to fight with him, only against him. 

Harry shook his head and sighed, looking over to Malfoy, who had been watching him again. 

“The world isn’t split between good people and death eaters.” The words fell out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop himself. 

Malfoy smirked back at him. “Caught on, did you?” 

Harry allowed himself a smile, relieved Malfoy didn’t take it the wrong way, glad for the break in tension. He looked up to the last flight they needed to climb, and put one foot in front of the other, summiting the landing and staring down the familiar hall. Sirius’s room was just there, waiting for him. 

Blood was starting to rush in Harry’s ears, the noise drowning out his ability to think clearly. 

“What happened here?” Malfoy’s voice pushed through his thoughts as he looked to the left where he was pointing. His eyes traveling from the doorway to the dark bloodstains on the floor, one eyebrow surreptitiously raised. 

Ah, the linen closet. The one he had nailed shut. Harry shuddered. 

“I was hallucinating.” Harry answered, not wanting to get in to the details of how the house had retaliated against him insulting the Black brothers, the ones who had been deliberating over his desire for death. How it had shut him in there. With George. And how he had panicked. 

Harry shook his head. Fuck. The reality of it pushed down the buzzing of his cravings - it was a dark place he had been in, a place where his mind wasn’t only his. 

He pulled his shoulders back and walked down the hall, turning in the doorway to face where he had once come to find solace. The smell of dark magic was thick in the air, combined with the general filth and wretched conditions of the place. Harry balked, taking a moment to absorb the utter squalor he had been immersed in. How had he lived here? He saw what was left of his supply of heroin on the bedside table. Ah, he thought, that’s how. 

He didn’t move from the doorway for some time. He felt like sobbing. He was so exhausted, overwhelmed, embarrassed, confused. Half of his brain, as if in a stupor, couldn’t stop reminding him how good he would feel. The other half was scrambling, panicking, grabbing at any hold on reality it could, trying to force images of the closet and filth and horrid reality of his life to break through into his brain. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward, gathered up the plastic around the innocent looking powder, and gripped it tightly in his hands, turning and passing Malfoy on his way out of the room, down the hallway, and into the loo, slamming the door behind him. 

He stood over the toilet and emptied out the packaging into the bowl, his breathing heavy, sweat pouring off his face, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He leaned over and flushed the chain, afraid of looking at it any longer, afraid of his hands touching even the wrappings that had kept it safe all this time, letting them flutter down onto the green marble floor. 

It was done. It was over. Relief poured through Harry at the same time as waves of the familiar nausea gripped him. He wretched up into the toilet, his abdomen clenching and heaving and his body rebelling his decision with every stuttering breath. He was shaking, not just his hands, but his arms, his legs, everything was overwhelming him and he stumbled back, slumping against the wall and sinking down to the floor, his head leaning against the ancient looking tub for support. He was exhausted. 

Harry was focusing on slowing his breathing and swallowing back more rounds of nausea when the packaging he had been staring at across the floor from him vanished suddenly. He looked up to see Malfoy in the doorway, his wand out, and the same calm expression on his face. Harry hadn’t even noticed the door opening. 

“You want me to vanish the rest of that mess?” He said, no trace of the familiar sneer or haughty tones. 

Harry nodded. He wanted a bath. He wanted to scrub his skin clean of the smell of dark magic and regret, and shame. He needed out of this place - he had done what he had come to do, but it had taken a toll on him. He curled into himself and waited, too overwhelmed even to engage the little serpets on the taps of the bath, who were looking up at him expectantly. 

Malfoy returned to the bathroom doorway, Harry’s leather jacket in one hand. 

“What should I do with this?” he asked, holding it out. 

Harry looked up, the sight of it knocking the air out of him, his mouth hanging open, his eyes drinking in the familiar sight. Familiar, because it was Sirius’s. Familiar, because it had been with him on this whole journey, it had been his constant companion, from the first time until the last. 

Malfoy looked back at him, his brows creasing as he processed that Harry was struggling through something immense. 

He crossed the small room and slid down the wall to sit next to Harry, still holding the jacket. 

“It was Sirius’s.” Harry croaked out, sounding suspiciously like he was on the verge of tears. “But I… I ruined the memory of him in it.” Harry brought his hands up to his face and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing deeply, obviously struggling to keep himself together. 

“It’s just a jacket,” Malfoy said softly, “who you are and what you do when you wear the jacket is up to you. Life is nothing but choices. Sometimes we make bad ones.” 

Harry sighed, lifting his head up to look over at Malfoy. “You don’t understand - the smell, even - it’s like I’m reliving things I don’t want to.” 

“Hmm,” Malfoy ran his hands along the leather, “How about I work on getting it clean? I could weave some protective magic into it instead? You might be surprised to know I have quite the knack for scrubbing dark magic out of things that I wanted to reclaim as my own.” 

Harry nodded, “just don’t let me see it until I ask for it, okay?” He was too tired to argue anymore. 

“Can you apparate us straight from here?” Harry asked, suddenly eager to get back to his top bunk in the middle of the forest, away from all the things that haunted him, but unsure he had the energy even for the trek down the stairs and out the front door. 

“I did the day I found you.” Malfoy said, his voice quiet and soft. 

“Oh.” Harry breathed out the word all in a rush. He realised, for the first time, that this may have been less than a pleasant excursion for Malfoy as well. 

“Thanks, for saving my life. And for bringing me here today. And helping me… with this.” Harry blurted out, awkward and unsure. He was hugging his arms to his chest, cradling himself against the wall and the tub, yet feeling incredibly open, vulnerable. But, he was thankful, he should say thank you. Yet, why did it have to feel like pulling his intestines out of his mouth to say it? 

“You did the same for me, Potter.” Malfoy said, as if resigned to the words, looking down at his oxfords, his hands still running over the bundle of leather in his lap. 

“So, we’re even, then?” Harry asked, his voice coming out more hopeful than confident. 

“For now.” Malfoy said, a hint of a smile on his lips as he stood, turning to offer a hand to Harry to help him up. 

Harry grasped his hand and let Malfoy do most of the work hauling him to his feet. He felt weak and shaky, but bolstered by the truce they had reached. He didn’t want to feel indebted, just as he didn’t want Malfoy to feel obligated to take care of him. From here on, he was going to do his best to make his own way. 

“Let’s go back” Harry said, offering his arm for Malfoy to take, and they disappeared to their forest clearing with a resounding crack.


	5. Roses and Agapanthus

Roses and Agapanthus  
April 19, 2008

Draco was fucking exhausted. They’d only been in Tenebris Hollow for a few short weeks, and he was already feeling completely in over his head. Between helping Harry stay alive, trying to make the space around the cottage usable for a potions garden, tracking the unicorn herds, trying to learn how to knit a hat, and writing his research theories, he felt utterly wrecked.

He was tramping his way back through the forest to the cottage after another failed attempt to get near the unicorns. He knew it would be a challenge getting close to them, he knew that, but it didn’t make the reality of it any less frustrating. He wished they could just see him and understand that he didn’t want to harm them. Maybe they could sense he was after their blood, and just assumed he meant to obtain it through malicious means? Or, maybe they were wild animals and he was a strange human with no grace in an unfamiliar wilderness.

He was sweating profusely as he rounded the last bend in the path before it started descending into the little valley that was Tenebris Hollow. The cottage was down at the very bottom of this dip in the forest floor and the angles of the mountains rose up gently around it protecting it from howling winds and the worst of the weather. From his vantage point he could see the top of the forest that surrounded the little cottage and the small furls of smoke that indicated human life amid the ancient trees.

Stripping off another layer to allow the cool spring breeze better access to his skin, he tried not to feel so overwhelmed by his predicament. What if he spent the next eleven months chasing a unicorn herd that would never let him near them? What if this was all a huge waste of time? What if Harry decided to fuck off as soon as his magic came back? Despite the intensity and fragility of their very precarious arrangement, Draco had come to appreciate having another human around. Even if that human had spent the last two weeks mostly unconscious or in debilitating pain. Draco didn’t know what it would be like when Harry started to come back to himself. He panicked a little at the thought of sharing such close sleeping quarters with someone who wasn’t on death’s doorstep.

He couldn’t think of that now, he had other things to worry about. Perhaps he should write to Beatrice about this. How would he even explain this to his therapist?

_Dear Beatrice, I’ve kidnapped the savior of the wizarding world and am helping him get clean, I quite enjoy his company when he’s unconscious but I’m worried about our sleeping arrangements once he’s not half dead. Any advice?_

No. He didn’t think he could even speak to Beatrice about this. He was going to have to use his coping skills on his own. The training wheels were off.

He stomped his way down the forest path through the thick brambles and under the towering trees of oak, pine, cedar, and hawthorn. The smell of damp spring heavy in the air. There were little patches of snow eddies still visible that hadn’t melted yet since the last snow storm, but there were signs of new life everywhere. He heard a rustling off in the underbrush to his right and he drew his wand as a precaution. Maybe it was a squirrel, or a rabbit? Or maybe it was a centaur? A loud squawk startled Draco so badly he nearly lost his balance. A large crow flew out of a bush and landed on a branch ahead of Draco. “You feathered heathen!” he chastised the crow, but it just continued to squawk at him. Draco rolled his eyes, more at himself than the bird, and continued down the path with his wand still out.

As the musings of the crow faded into the background of other forest noises, Draco saw the swish of a long black tail from behind a tree. He recognized the thestral in an instant, and shook his head, smiling. He had been shocked a the number of thestrals he came across in the forest. There were dozens of them. And they didn’t seem in the least bit wary of him. Quite the contrary, actually. He found himself being followed by a number of them as he tried to stalk the unicorn herds. He would have blamed the thestrals for his inability to get close to the unicorns, if he hadn’t seen them walk right up and mingle with their herds. The unicorns seemed supremely unconcerned by their presence.

He chuckled out loud when he realized he had wandered into the middle nearly twenty thestrals picking their way quietly through the underbrush. They all perked their ears towards Draco and watched him curiously as he passed through them. A few stepped towards him and began amicably lumbering in his wake. He thought vaguely that maybe he should be unnerved by so many of them, and that they all seemed fairly interested in his comings and goings, but rather he found them quite endearing. Odd, and a bit awkward, but endearing nonetheless. He would have to bring some meat for them tomorrow when he went back to the unicorns he thought, as looked behind him to see four or five of them slowly ambling down the path after him.

He was hungry, and took the last bit of the trail to the cottage at a jog. He didn’t like to leave Harry on his own for more than a few hours in case he was needed, and he had been gone for nearly five hours already this morning. He stopped jogging and resumed his brisk walking pace just before entering the clearing to the garden at the back steps of the cottage to the West, and held a stitch in his side as he breathed deeply through his nose.

The cottage really was a beautiful place. The gently sloping forest around it seem to hold it like in a cradle. The wild living roof was full of the signs of spring, and thick carpets of green moss and lichen clung to the rough stone walls all along the round little building. Off to the left of the garden was a beautiful little pond where little green lily pads started to pop up, and on the other side of the cottage was an old stone well and iron pump for filling the bath or large cauldrons when an aguamenti just didn't cut it. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. Something surreal and ethereal.

Coming into the clearing, he was surprised to see Harry in the garden, pulling weeds with a look of deep concentration on his face, looking far less ill than he had since they came back from their outing to Grimmauld Place.

Draco walked forward, panting from his exertion, holding his stitch, and nodded at Harry when he looked up and saw Draco approaching. Harry nodded back and continued his attack on an impressively large burdock that saw fit to sink its taproot into the middle of the walk way. Their conversation had been minimal since first arriving. Not that they didn’t have anything to talk about, but in the light of the intensity they seemed to always share, they didn’t really have a need to talk. Not yet, anyways.

Once inside the cool shelter of the little cottage, he made a mental list of things he needed to accomplish. First, he needed to get out of his gross clothes. He was sweaty and covered in detritus from crawling on the ground trying to edge his way towards the unicorn herd. Then, he would make lunch, have a strong cup of tea, write to Hagrid about his frustrations, write down his feeble attempts with the unicorns for posterity, go work in the garden, then settle Harry in with his afternoon potions. Finally, after dinner he would pick up his knitting and try to soothe his ragged nerves with some soft yarn. He felt like his head was full to bursting with a million things to think about. He took a deep breath and reminded himself as he closed himself into the bathroom, that all he could do was take this moment by moment and not to panic about what lay ahead.  
_________________

Draco found himself kneeling in the garden later that afternoon. His quick bath before lunch had been utterly pointless, as he was now covered in more sweat and dirt than he had been before. He was breathing hard and staring daggers into a hedgerow of roses he had unearthed under a gnarled sprawl of brambles and weeds. He felt personally offended, betrayed even, that this garden had been harboring these dozen or so rose bushes within its midsts without Draco’s knowledge. He felt a sharp stab of anger at the thought of the rose bushes awakening after their winter slumber and going on to produce an array of heavily scented flowers to gawk at him every time he walked pass.

With swift retribution, he grabbed his spade and began hacking at the base of the nearest rose bush. It was grueling work, as these plants must have been at least 100 years old judging by the thickness of their trunks, but he reveled in the physical exertion and the non magic of the task. The rational part of his brain said that perhaps he should feel some guilt for senselessly murdering an ancient hedgerow of roses, whose magical properties were probably very powerful, not to mention interesting. But the part of his brain that was trapped in the manor’s rose garden felt a vindictive pleasure at driving the sharp spade into the gnarled roots of this plant and bringing about its timely death.

After 20 minutes of hacking that grew more and more frantic and desperate, Draco was finally able to wrest the rose’s ball of roots from the earth and toss the mangled form of thorns and branches into a heap next to the compost pile of weeds. He sank back down on his knees in front of the hedgerow and resumed his pensive and angry staring. One down, another dozen or so to go.

Draco managed to bring about the demise of five whole rose bushes that evening. Each successive thorny mass harder to pull out than the last one. He eventually tried to resort to magical means of destruction but magic didn’t seem to help much, either. These were old and magical roses, and they were putting up a fight. Well, two could play at that game, he thought bitterly. But after three hours and only five bushes, he decided he would have to save his strength and resume his attack the next day.

“You okay?” he heard an apprehensive voice from behind him that caused Draco to start.

Turning around from his seated position, surrounded by the carnage of his rose assault, he saw Potter standing there with a look of profound concern on his face. A look he hadn’t seen directed at him before from this man. Draco thought he must look a right mess if Harry, of all people, were looking at him like that.

Draco just shrugged and turned back towards the rose hedge. He didn’t have much energy left in him to try and explain this, nor did he think he wanted to. Harry could think what he wanted about Draco’s behavior towards the unforgiving hedge. He wondered with a flush of embarrassment how long Harry had been watching him, and how mad he must have looked hacking maniacally away at the roses. It hadn’t been his normal methodical weeding. He had really viciously attacked those plants.

He heard footsteps approaching and felt Harry’s arm brush against him as he sat down next to Draco. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, and let his presence comfort him. He hadn’t even realized he was craving comfort, but he really was. Fuck those rose bushes, honestly, he thought.

“I don’t like agapanthus.” Harry said after a long while. Draco’s breathing evened out and he was no longer panting. Draco just looked at him, feeling a little confused, not knowing how to respond. Surely, Harry couldn’t think Draco hated roses just for the sake of it?

“No, really. I hate agapanthus.” He continued, after seeing the apparent look of incredulity on Draco’s face. “My aunt had them in her garden and she fawned over them in the grossest way. I used to poison them when she wasn’t looking.”

He had heard, in moment of Harry’s delusions and nightmares, during the worst of his withdrawals, some of what sounded like Harry’s childhood memories. He didn’t know much about Harry’s early years, other than he was raised by muggle relatives. But given the state of terror Harry had been in when wrapped in another nightmare, it gave Draco a pause to think that growing up with them may not have been the most pleasant experience.

Draco snorted, trying not to laugh at the image of boy wonder poisoning his aunt’s agapanthus out of sheer spite. “Not the nicest, were they?” Draco said, finally responding, fiddling with some twigs on the ground.

Harry smirked and shook his head, but didn’t answer.

“I use to love roses.” Draco said finally. He didn’t actually mean to say it. It just kind of slipped out.

“Not anymore?” Harry asked, without looking at him.

“Not anymore.” he said sighing. “One of the many things Voldemort and his Death Eaters ruined for me.”

They were quiet for a while again before Harry spoke. “I’m hungry, let’s go eat something.”  
________________

Today was full of little surprises, thought Draco as he watched Harry busy himself making them peanut butter and jam sandwiches. He himself began the ritual of tea making and preparing Harry’s evening potion. Harry glanced sideways at him as he spread liberal amounts of raspberry jam onto several pieces of seeded bread in his sandwich assembly line. “I think I’d like to try and leave the potion for tonight.” He said hesitantly, as if he was wary of Draco’s response.

Draco stilled for a moment, pondering this. Yes, eventually Harry wouldn’t need these potions anymore, but Draco wasn't so sure that tonight was that night. “Are you sure?” Draco asked.

“What do you think?” Harry countered, unsure.

“I think you could try.” Draco said after a moment. “If you feel like it’s too much without it, I’ll leave it out for you, over here.” He indicated to the tea tray. Perhaps Draco’s nervousness about this was his own baggage. Perhaps Draco only slept so soundly at night because of the knowledge that his unlikely housemate was incapable of much more than vague shuffling to the loo when under the influence of these potions. He tried to shake off his not so irrational fear of people near him when he slept.

“Thanks.” Harry said quietly. “I just want to feel like myself again.”

Draco nodded.

“Shit, we’re out of peanut butter.” he said as he scraped the remnants of a jar feebly with a butter knife. “When do you find time to go grocery shopping by the way? The cupboards are always stocked.”

“Oh, we have an enchanted cupboard.” Draco supplied, pointing to the nondescript cupboard door at the far end of the kitchen under the counter. “If there’s something specific you want, just write it on a piece of parchment and stick it in there. The houselves will read it and send you what you want. It was McGonagall’s idea.”

Harry seemed rather impressed by that. “How quickly do they usually respond?”

“I don’t know actually, I usually leave the list in there at night before bed and empty it in the morning. Why don’t you find out?”

Harry didn’t hesitate grabbing a scrap of parchment and scribbling a few words down and placing it carefully on the center shelf in the enchanted cupboard. He closed it and after waiting for what seemed like 30 seconds he opened it again. They were both surprised to see a jar of peanut butter there so quickly.

“Damn.” Harry said impressed, grabbing the peanut butter and closing the cupboard.

“Houselves.” Draco intoned “They don’t fuck about.”

Harry let out a surprised laugh. The first genuine laugh Draco had heard from him since they arrived together. He found himself smiling at the sound as he finished fixing their tea.

Draco had moved the tray of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and tea to the little rickety table and Harry followed. Settling himself down across from Draco he grabbed a sandwich and took a large bite, looking pensively at Draco.

“So.” Harry chewed his food thoughtfully. “What exactly are we doing out here? I have a feeling you didn’t come here on the fly after you found me.”

“No.” Said Draco. “I applied for a year’s research sabbatical. I’m here to study the unicorn herds.”

“Oh.” Harry replied. “What are you studying them for?”

“I’m looking at the caveats of unicorn blood magic.” He said, picking up a sandwich. “If their blood is freely given it can counterbalance the cursed half life effect of killing one for it. I’m trying to see if freely given blood can be used in practical applications for curing dark magic and blood magic curses.”

Harry considered this. “How are you going to convince a unicorn to give you their blood?”

Draco sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I have no fucking clue honestly.” he felt exhausted after the emotional rollercoaster of the day. “I’m hoping I’ll have an idea when Hagrid writes me back.”

“You speak to Hagrid?” Harry asked incredulously, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“Shocking though it may seem Potter,” Draco drawled with a smirk, “but I apologized to Hagrid for being a git, and we’ve been quite close since I went back for 8th year. He’s the one who suggested this cottage.”

Harry just observed him with a puzzled expression on his face. Like he couldn’t figure something out.

“What?” Draco eventually asked, his smirk faltering, beginning to bristle under the gaze of scrutiny.

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Malfoy?” Harry cracked a small smile, looking thoroughly confused.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that Potter?” Draco asked, chucking the crust of his sandwich at Harry’s face, who swatted at it in exasperation. “Was I supposed to stay an arrogant brat who couldn’t see past his father’s faults? Honestly, get your head out of your arse, of course I changed. You stood up at my fucking trial, you couldn’t possibly think I was still that same person from before and then stand up and defend my honor. You berk.”

“There you are.” Harry mused, picking up the crust Draco had thrown at him and eating it. “Was beginning to worry there for a minute.”

Draco rolled his eyes and started to clear away their dinner.


	6. Night Magic

Night Magic  
May 13, 2008

Harry sat straight up, nearly knocking his head on the rafters above him, getting dried lavender all over his bed and hair as he swatted the stiff hangings from his face. He was panting and sweating, pulled out of a nightmare about being tortured by Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor’s opulent dining room. Bellatrix had been there. She had run her long nails across Harry’s cheek, taunting him for being so weak, laughing at him for using muggle drugs, of all things. 

Harry shook his head, pushing the images away. He didn’t know what time it was, but the little cabin was dark and silent, save for the hushed breathing of Malfoy on the bunk below and the soft chirruping calls of frogs, gaining confidence on their wavy pond reeds in the warmer spring air. 

It had been hell, these last few days, sleeping without the potions and the tea Malfoy had been giving him, but at least he woke up with a clear head - the drowsy, dizzy and blurred effects of the tonic had reminded him too much of being high, and it now made him more uneasy than anything. He wanted to be himself, and he guessed that meant a return to his nightmares, too. Each night he’d been awoken by horrors from before the war. Tonight, at least, it seemed he had woken up before any real screaming happened, as Malfoy was still asleep. 

Harry sighed, laying back against his soft bedding and slightly damp pillow. Was this what it was going to be like now? He couldn’t take any potions. Would he ever get his magic back? Malfoy had said he thought it would return, but what if it didn’t? Would he be able to live in the wizarding world like this? Did he want to live in the wizarding world at all? And what about the muggle world? He didn’t like the thought of having to go into a muggle pharmacy and getting cold medication or, fuck, painkillers any time he got sick. The thought alone stressed him far more than the dream had. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and rubbed his hands over his face. The floodgates of panic had opened, there were millions of things to consider and stress about and be ashamed of. 

He stopped, dropping his hands down. One step at a time, he said to himself, nearly uttering the words aloud. I’ll deal with all of these things when I get there, he reasoned. I’m not even two months clean. I’m sure there will be a way. I’ll ask Herm… Well, maybe someday I’ll ask her. For now, I guess I could ask Malfoy? His train of thought paused. 

Malfoy. 

Harry leaned over the side of his bunk to peek at Malfoy’s sleeping figure. It was too dark to make out any details, and Malfoy was cocooned in a giant, featherdown duvet, of course, but his body was rising and falling rhythmically, with what seemed like the deep breaths of sleep. 

Harry rolled and stretched back out on his bed, his hands behind his head, looking up into the mass of drying plants that obscured the woven reeds beneath the living roof. Malfoy had added to it exponentially in the short time that they had been there, pulling whole plants from inside his shoulder bag after days tracking and observing the unicorn herds. He recognized sage, queen anne’s lace, rue and milk thistle from the day before’s harvest, and they had sat together while Malfoy had prepared half to dry and used the other half in a marathon brewing session. 

The milk thistle had been for hangover remedies, the sage in a poultice for fiendfyre burns, queen anne’s lace for contraceptive potions and the rue had been the strangest of all - Malfoy had cooked it down and soaked a skein of white yarn in it, dying it yellow. It had been fascinating to watch, and Malfoy’s concentration and dedication to the precise and delicate nature of the craft was hypnotising. They had talked late into the night, about Hogwarts days and Malfoy filled Harry in on the horrors of his 8th year, and then the triumphs and the victories. 

He was really different, Harry mused. The boy Harry had known at school would never be here. He would have never have become a healer, or cared about advancing research for those affected by dark magic. He wouldn’t be dying yarn and knitting. He wouldn’t be soft, and kind. Sure, he was still a bit posh and very pointy and mostly the same self important twit, but there was more. Layers and layers more. 

He had never once made Harry feel guilty for what had happened, for the choices he had made - granted, Harry had done enough of that for the both of them - but, no, Malfoy had just looked at him and told him it was okay to be human. He didn’t think even Ron or Hermione could have done that - they wouldn’t have been able to let him find his own way back, either. 

It’s because he needed that from others, too, Harry realised, forgetting to breathe for a moment. He had known what it meant to make mistakes, and to be fallible, and to fuck up miserably because he was scared and alone. He didn’t pity Harry, and he didn’t coddle him, because he knew that wasn’t what Harry needed to come back from this. He needed to feel strong and capable and Malfoy was going to let him. Harry sucked in air, almost laughing at the realisation that he’d been holding his breath. It felt so good, and he felt full of a warm and satisfied feeling, a real one, this time, and it was because Malfoy was probably the only person in this world who could’ve saved him, and he had. And he didn’t expect anything at all in return. 

The soft hooting of a owl echoed around the clearing, the frogs taking their cue to quiet their raucous mating calls, and Harry smiled to himself. He felt wide awake, but calm, at ease. He was safe, even from himself, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had genuinely felt this way. 

Malfoy stirred on the bed below him, making a small noise in the depths of his goose down burrow, then rolling back over. Harry furrowed his brow - it didn’t sound like he was sleeping peacefully anymore? Was Malfoy having nightmares too? His thoughts were answered as he heard Malfoy gasp and flail in the bed below him, making a sound like someone was strangling him, his breathing ragged and pained. 

Without thinking, Harry pushed off his thin quilt, threw his legs over the side of his bed and hopped down to the floor, leaning over Malfoy and resting a hand on his shoulder, rocking it gently. 

“Malfoy - hey, can you hear me?” Harry said softly, not wanting to startle him too badly. 

Even in the darkness, Harry was close enough to see Malfoy’s features, normally so serene and blank, twisted in a panicked distress, flinching away as if he was being hit. His fingers were twisted around the collar of his own shirt, pulling the neck down as if he couldn’t stand it near his throat. 

“Malfoy you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.” Harry said, louder this time, his palm pressing against him, solidly. 

Malfoy gasped and his eyes flew open, and he scrambled to get away from Harry’s outstretched hand, clearly still lost in the dream that had been tormenting him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. You were having a nightmare.” Harry said again, moving his hand away and moving back from the bedside slowly. 

“I’m sorry for waking you, but you sounded like you were in pain.” He finished, realising that maybe it was a bit weird he had woken him up? Ron had always woken him up back in the dorms, and he had always preferred it, but maybe that’s not what most people do? 

Malfoy blinked up at him, his breathing still fast and ragged. It took him several seconds to compose himself, but eventually he swallowed, and managed a scratchy “thanks.” 

“You alright?” Harry asked, unsure what to do in this situation. He was overwhelmed with curiosity - did Malfoy have nightmares since the war? Were they the same things that Harry had nightmares about? 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his blonde hair sticking up at all angles, making him look even sharper and pointier than usual. “Of course I’m alright. It was just a dream.” His voice had found the hard edginess it had always had at school. Harry nodded, to himself, more than anything. Malfoy was scared. 

“I’m only awake because I had one too, you know. And, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen me through much worse.” Harry offered, shrugging. Malfoy said nothing, but he was sitting up in his bed now, not looking like he was about to go back to sleep. 

“Do you want some tea?” Harry said, on a whim. He was craving a cup - not one of the medicinal ones that Malfoy had been making, just a proper cup of chai, milky and sweetened just how he liked. 

“What?” Malfoy said, staring at Harry as he moved toward the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

“Tea, Malfoy. We are British, aren’t we? Flavored hot water. It’s basically our national pastime. Surprised you haven’t heard of it before, really, it’s quite a thing.” Harry said, pleased with himself, and looking forward to being in charge of making it, for once. 

“I know what tea is, Potter. But why are we doing this now? Why are you even awake?” Malfoy asked, sounding resigned now, no hint of the cold and irritated venom of fear. 

“Nightmares.” Harry said again, still smiling, grabbing his wand from where it usually lay on the kitchen table and wordlessly casting lumos so he could find the little black box of chai he had found in one of the cupboards on the second week here, but had yet felt the unyielding desire to sample. 

“Potter.” Came a small voice from the other side of the room, as Harry grabbed two mugs, taking the one with the chip in the rim for himself. 

“I know Malfoy, you like a quarter cup of milk and a single spoon of honey. I was kidding before, I know you like tea. I’ve watched you make it for years across the great hall.” Harry was still smiling, pulling the silver jar full of honey toward himself. 

Harry opened the rather sticky lid and pulled the dark wooden dipper up out of the soft pool of golden liquid. 

Harry stopped, dropped the dipper back in the pot, closed the lid and took a step back. 

His heart stuttered in his chest and he felt a familiar snaking tingling run up his sides, up his spine and across his shoulders. It was like a breathy shiver of ice, pulling his insides this way and that, squirming uncomfortably. 

The light of his wand went out, and Harry stood in the dark, feeling the crushing weight of what was happening. He couldn’t even make tea without being hit with an overwhelming wave of desire - of need. 

“Lumos.” Malfoy said softly into the dark just behind Harry, his wand casting the illumination that Harry’s had held moments before. 

“Fuck.” Harry breathed out, still looking at the ornate little silver pot that had caught him so unawares, that had so effectively reminded him just how early in his recovery he was. 

Malfoy stepped around Harry toward the stove and pulled out a little glass jar of sugar from behind the salt grinder, placing it next to their mugs, ready and waiting. 

“I’ll take a half spoonful, please.” Malfoy said, looking up at Harry expectantly. 

Harry swallowed and busied himself with finishing his chai preparation, dutifully spooning in the sugar, grabbing the kettle as it boiled and finally pouring in the milk, handing Malfoy his mug when he finished. 

His hands shook only a little by the time he was done, but he was more wounded psychologically than anything. He had been having fun, he had cast lumos, he was feeling strong and capable, and something so infinitesimally small and inconsequential had stolen it all from him. He hung his head and looked down into his tea, quiet and full of dread. How was he going to manage? 

“I was dreaming about Lestrange. About him choking me.” Malfoy said, turning and taking himself and his steaming mug of chai back to bed, bypassing the kitchen table where Harry was about to sit down. 

Harry stopped, midway to the ancient spindly chair, looking over at Malfoy as he re-entered the cocoon of bedding, sitting with this duvet around his shoulders, his features darkening as he worried his bottom lip. 

“He used to like to do it. He’d corner me in some distant hallway or quiet room I had been reading in, back when the Manor was swarming with Death Eaters.” Malfoy continued, his face blank, staring into nothing beyond the edge of the bed. 

Harry straightened up and crossed the room to the edge of the bunk, sitting himself down on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, his bare feet on the hide rug. He didn’t ask anything, he just sipped at his still too hot tea, letting what he had said hang in the air, the horror of it. 

“It became like a game for them, to choke me until I passed out, then have their way with me.” 

“Fucking hell.” Harry said, unable to stop the words as they came out, his stomach rolling with profound disgust. Anger flushed his skin deep red beneath the light browns, and he looked up at Malfoy’s expression, expecting to see his rage mirrored, but finding nothing but sadness, of pain and maybe a hint of shame. 

Harry wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him, let him know he didn’t think anything else of him than admiration for having lived through it. But his hands clutched his mug instead, and his throat went dry, the silence between them stretching out into the darkest corners of their room. 

“I’m glad you made it out alive.” Harry finally said, feeling inadequate and overwhelmed in the face of something so inhumane. 

Malfoy looked up from his tea and smiled the smallest of smiles at Harry. “You going to tell me what the deal is with the honey, then?” Malfoy said, and Harry understood. He had given Harry something personal so that Harry could give him his issues right back. He was showing him that he could handle it, he could understand, and that it would be a fair trade between them. 

Harry sighed, the anger vanishing and resignation taking its place. He was glad he had the tea, to sip at tentatively while he thought about what he could possibly say to explain what he was feeling. 

“You know what it does, right? The stuff I was using?” Harry started, his voice sounding small and pathetic, worried and tremulus. He cleared his throat, in an attempt to control how much fear was in it. Malfoy had been brave. He could be brave, too. 

“It’s a painkiller.” Malfoy said, watching Harry, who had started to fidget, and was rolling his shoulders back as he nodded. 

“I used to imagine - as it hit me - that it was like falling into honey. I know it sounds bizarre, just, that’s how I used to feel, like it was soft and soothing and healing and it would just soak away the pain, heal everything, all of my scars.” Harry finished, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t think I can talk about this.” He said, after a moment, his skin crawling. 

“It’s okay.” Malfoy said, his voice even and healing next to Harry’s gruff mumblings. “It will get easier, even if it doesn’t seem like it now. Eventually, you’ll be able to make tea with honey without thinking about it. You’ll find yourself doing lots of things that might seem impossible now.” 

Harry looked up at him. “You believe that?” He asked.

“I have to.” Malfoy returned, setting his mug down on the floor next to Harry. “You did magic earlier,” he said suddenly, his eyebrow raising and the smile returning to his face. 

“Yeah.” Harry said, also feeling the corners of his mouth pulling up at the idea that it was still there, within him, waiting for him to be ready, waiting for him to heal. “I was feeling so good - happy, you know, like I haven’t in forever. Do you think it’s related to how I’m feeling?” 

“Probably.” Draco mused. He looked smug and at ease again, but somehow more animated than Harry usually saw him in the daylight. “It’s part of you, it’s part of your confidence and your sense of connectedness to your ideas and thoughts and what you want. All of us, our magic is a reflection of who we are.”

“Do you think it’ll come back? I can’t feel it at all now.” Harry asked, his fear evident in his voice. 

“I’m sure of it.” Malfoy answered. “Don’t put yourself on a timeline, though, Potter. Recovery isn’t linear.” 

Harry put his empty mug down next to Malfoy’s and hugged his knees to his chest, deep in thought. 

They stayed like that for some time, sharing thoughts, worries, mundane details of their lives. Harry asked Malfoy about St. Mungo’s, and Harry was very annoyed to learn that even those who he had respected and known to be good and kind people had ostracised or been outright cruel to him there. He felt surges of his old protective instincts toward Malfoy, and it was only later that he realised how strange this was, how much of a transformation. 

Not even three months ago, he would have sworn they would be mortal enemies until death, that Malfoy was nothing but a stuck up, entitled narcissist with a penchant for blood purity bullshit. How wrong he was, how thick to think that the war didn’t change Malfoy in the same ways that it had changed him - that the war hadn’t created Malfoy in the same way it had created him. They were kids, terrified and pushed and pulled by forces they didn’t understand, trying to make the adults in their lives proud, trying to hold on to approval and love and the idea of a happy future. 

Just before sunrise, Harry fell asleep on the floor next to their bed on one of the seemingly infinite pillows Malfoy used to help create his nest, and that he had begrudgingly handed over when Harry had complained his arse was numb. It wasn’t long before Malfoy was asleep too, but not before he reached up and pulled down Harry’s quilt, laying it over him. 

_________________________

It was two days later when Harry was confronted with how to respond to unfamiliar territory again. After they had woken up, Harry still on the floor, Malfoy had been his cold and repressed self, even quieter than usual, stalking off to search for unicorns and leaving Harry to his own devices for much of the day. Harry had spent a whole morning making repeated cups of tea, with honey, just to challenge himself and ensure that he wouldn’t be held captive by a damn condiment. Each successive cup became easier, and he found it more and more rewarding that he had conquered something that had been so debilitating just the night before. 

By late evening, when Malfoy finally returned, Harry had offered to make Malfoy a cup of darjeeling to show off his newfound honey-using skills, but the blonde had been in a horrid mood and refused the offer outright, showering and sleeping without more than a few words passing between them. It was alright though, Harry knew he could do it now, and that’s what mattered. 

It was the next morning, when Harry came across Malfoy in the garden, offering to help weed, that things had erupted into chaos. 

They were on opposite paths, each working on one of the two large beds on the edge of the garden, the forest just on the other side. Harry had sat back on his heels, wiping the sweat from his brow after a particularly draining fight with a thorned valerian bush, it’s purple flowers giving off an offensive, rancid smell anytime they so much as swayed in the soft breeze. Eventually, Harry had won out. 

He was pleased with how much his strength and stamina had returned, helped along by how much physical labour he had been doing in the garden and around the cottage. Aside from chopping wood for the fire, Harry had kept busy fetching water and keeping their quarters as clean as he could manage. Malfoy still insisted on much of the cooking, but between the two of them, they made a successful go of things. 

Harry pulled an apple from his pocket, having saved one from the bowl on the breakfast table that morning, just after he’d wolfed down a sizeable helping of both eggs and bacon. He sunk his teeth in and savored in the sweet taste, sitting back on the damp earth of the path, leaning against the bed behind him. It was amazing how much he had neglected food, neglected eating, and even the simplest of flavors at their fastidiously routine mealtimes was more than just physically nourishing, it made him happy. 

_“You could have saved some for me, you know.”_ Came a tiny voice behind Harry, and he turned to see a small black snake with a yellow stripe down its back slithering around the half cleared garden bed. _“I am an eggeater. We eat eggs. You have eggs. You share with eggeater.”_ Harry laughed as he regarded the little creature. It seemed so affronted that no one had thought to save him any eggs. 

_“My deepest apologies, small eggeating friend.”_ Harry hissed back, a smile lifting his features and crinkling his eyes. _“Tomorrow I shall be less careless.”_

_“See that you do, big eggeater.”_ He hissed as he slithered away beneath the broad leaves of a comfrey plant, and Harry chuckled. 

He looked up to share his chastisement with Malfoy, but stopped before any of the words came out of his mouth. Something was wrong. Malfoy was breathing heavily, hands gripping the edge of the bed, staring ahead, eyes unfocused. 

Harry jumped up and walked to his side, kneeling down next to him, but not wanting to invade his space too much. 

“Malfoy, are you okay?” Was met with silence, zero recognition that he was talking, so he hastily added, “can you hear me?” 

Fuck, Harry thought. What if he touched some kind of poisonous plant? He knew fuckall about potions. He’d never be able to brew any kind of antidote, and he highly doubted he’d be so lucky with a bezoar out here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he could ask the houselves for one? 

“Malfoy, I’m right here, tell me what I can do? What do you need?” Harry asked, unsure if anything was getting through to him, as Malfoy hadn’t broken his stare and he didn’t seem to be reacting much aside from his stuttering breathes and shaky limbs. 

“You know I’m horrid at potions Malfoy, you really don’t want me attempting to try to fix you with anything I’ve brewed.” Harry said, unsure if he should touch him or not. 

Malfoy stuttered what looked like an attempt at a deep breath, and turned his head toward Harry, his expression still vacant. 

“Hey, Malfoy, can you tell me what’s happening? I’m worried about you.” Harry said, completely unfiltered, unsure if anything he said was getting through. 

“Yeah” Malfoy squeaked. “I’m ok. Just… panic…” Malfoy said very slowly, color slowly returning to his decidedly pale cheeks. 

“Can I touch you?” Harry asked awkwardly and unsure, sitting down on the ground next to him, his brow creased. 

Malfoy nodded slowly, and Harry reached up to lightly rub circles on his upper back, doing his best to be comforting through the thin material of Malfoy’s grey t shirt. 

“Panic? Like a panic attack?” Harry asked, watching Malfoy closely, making sure his own worry didn’t course through him and cause him to rub too fast, too frantically. 

Malfoy nodded again, and Harry relaxed considerably. The looming threat of advanced healing potions out of the way, he realised that this was something he could handle. He had never seen someone have one before, but they had had a training seminar once, a few years ago, for when victims of crimes or people on the scene have one. It was mostly about just being calm and quiet and comforting in a respectful way, and Harry thought he could be rather good at that. He sat and rubbed Malfoy’s back and refrained from asking any more questions. 

Several minutes passed, and Harry watched Draco slowly relax, start moving his limbs and lean his head down, his breathing evening out. He finally let up with the back rubbing and, after another few moments, asked “Hey. Welcome back. Can you tell me what happened?” 

“You were speaking parseltongue, you prat.” He said, trying for venom but only sounding weak and scared. “I haven’t heard it since… well… since that sadistic fuck lived in my house with his giant death snake that he used to murder people.” Malfoy tipped his head back with his eyes closed, the morning sun catching his face and illuminating his features. He looked tired. 

“Oh fuck.” Harry said, feeling like a complete ass. “I didn’t think about it, it just sounds like English to me, just a little more… hissy?” He shrugged, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to, honestly. I won’t do it again. I was just going to tell you that there’s a little snake in the bed who is demanding eggs and apparently knows that we’re hoarding them all and eating them without him. He was very upset.” Harry was rambling. He felt bad for causing Malfoy such distress. 

Malfoy startled them both with a laugh. “You were getting bullied by that little thing?” 

Harry grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I promised him I’d bring him an egg tomorrow?” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Serpents excel at emotional blackmail, ask anyone in Slytherin.” He gave Harry an appraising look, regaining his composure. “Good to know that Gryffindors are especially susceptible, though. No one will be surprised.” 

“I’m sorry though, really.” Harry managed, still smiling, but wanting to be serious. 

“It’s okay, Potter. I just wasn’t expecting it, I suppose.” He looked distinctly embarrassed now. “For fuck’s sake, that’s the second time that’s happened and I’ve had to have a lion come to my rescue. It’s how my friendship with Neville started, actually.” 

Harry’s mouth was hanging open. “You’re friends with Neville? Neville Longbottom? Our Neville? And Neville saw you have a panic attack?” 

“Oh you can stop with the theatrics, Potter. He’s perfectly nice.” Draco said. “We correspond by letter and get together at bars every now and then. And the point I was trying to make,” he said waving his hand at Harry, “was that this is embarrassing enough happening once, particularly since Gryffindors seem so keen to come to my rescue, so I really hope it doesn’t happen again. If it does though, you did well. Just do the same thing, and eventually I’ll come around.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes and peered over at Malfoy. “Are you shagging Neville?” 

“Excuse me?” Draco asked with a shocked face. “Potter. First of all, no. We’re friends, I’m capable of having friends. Platonic friends. You berk. Second of all, have you just assumed this whole time that I’m gay?” Malfoy looked infuriated, deeply amused, but also very angry. 

Harry laughed awkwardly, blushing deeply. “I mean, aren’t you?” He asked tentatively. “I don’t know why I thought so, it was just … something I always thought? I’m sorry if you find that offensive? Am I way off base? I know I’m not the most observant person-” Harry hadn’t really thought about it before - well, not since sixth year. He had thought about it some then, but that had been a dark, confusing time for everyone, right? 

“I’m not offended.” Malfoy cut Harry’s rambling off. “I am gay. I just am not really a fan of people making assumptions about me. Aside from this particular thing, people tend to assume the worst when it comes to me.” Malfoy sniffed, looking haughty. 

“That’s very reasonable of you.” Harry considered. “I’m coming to realise a lot of what I thought about you was dead wrong, as well. Like, you’re not a bad person, for one.” Harry said, feeling guilty and a little shy of all the honesty. He got to his feet, rubbing the feeling back into his legs and brushing the dirt off the seat of his jeans. He paused and reached a hand out to help Malfoy to his feet as well.

“Yeah, and you’re not so much of a git as I remember you being either, Potter.” Malfoy said, taking his hand and getting to his feet. 

“Come on, I’ll make tea.” Malfoy said, stretching his arms above his head, revealing a small strip of his back to Harry as he walked back toward the house. Harry shook his head, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that Malfoy had dimples, his lower back tapering down between the muscles of his spine and his sacrum. 

“So, Malfoy,” Harry called after him, “are you seeing anyone, then?” He liked seeing Malfoy happy, he decided, at least. Smiling and laughing Malfoy were a great improvement on the stony silence he had grown so accustomed to. 

“Yeah,” Malfoy called back, knocking his boots outside the door, “that’s who I’m sneaking off to in the forest each day, Potter, my secret lover. The unicorns are just a clever ruse to distract you from my very sordid and taboo love life.” Malfoy snorted with laughter and set to work on the tea, completely sidestepping the question.


	7. Breakthroughs

Breakthroughs  
May 16, 2008

Draco was laying in a patch of grass near the unicorn herd about an hour away from the cottage. He had a headache. He was hot, and sticky. He was frustrated. He had been following this heard for weeks and was just now able to get within a few meters of the unicorns without them running off in offense. He lay there at ground level and scribbled in his journal about his ideas to obtain blood. None of them seemed remotely realistic.

Sticking out of his journal were two letters. One very worn letter from Hagrid that he had reread a dozen times, and another from his mother that he had just received that morning. Hagrid’s letter had been sweet, but essentially useless. He suggested Draco injure himself in their presence and hope for the best, or to walk up and ask a unicorn point blank for what he wanted. Draco didn’t think he wanted to know whether the unicorns thought he worth their help if he was injured and needed them. He didn’t think his soul could take the punch. Nor did he think asking them for blood would be remotely helpful.

The letter from his mother was anything but sweet. She had become more and more cold and insistent towards Draco with every passing letter she sent him in the forest. She didn’t like that he was essentially inaccessible to her and she hated that he was “alone” in a dangerous place. And, instead of voicing her concerns in a manner that befitted a caring parental figure, she was using emotional manipulation and gaslighting to try and get Draco into leaving the forest “for his own good”.

He sighed and rested his head on the page of notes he was rereading, contemplating his life choices and how to respond to his mother. He decided that it was time he sent an owl to Beatrice. He hadn’t corresponded with her in nearly three weeks. Not since Harry woke him up from his nightmare and they swapped horror stories in the dark. Draco mused at the irony that, while they may have been on different sides of a war, and that their upbringings couldn’t be any different, and that as children they could fight like no other, they were more similar in their brokenness than he ever could have anticipated.

They seemed to have formed an unspoken accord. There were no expectations. No demands. No facade. Draco helped Harry, and, when Harry could, he returned the favor without comment. Whether it was waking Draco up from a nightmare or ripping out a rose bush or two, without even understanding why it was important, he did it.

That next morning he had felt exhausted, but lighter. He had never told anyone about his sexual assault aside from Beatrice. And, though he was aware that Luna somehow knew, he had never spoken about it with her. Potter just seemed to have that effect on him. And the admission felt important. It felt freeing in a way to put it out there in the space between them so that he didn’t have to explain why he couldn’t change his clothes in their shared space with abandon like Potter did. Why he couldn’t fall asleep before the other man did. Why he slept with his wand under him. Why he slept in a dragon’s nest of blankets and pillows. Why he was grateful that he had the bottom bed and could remove himself quickly when feeling overwhelmed. But, while it felt freeing to say the words out loud, he also felt profound fear with it.

There were no taking those words back. No pretending it wasn’t real. Keeping this discourse between himself and a therapist almost made it separate from his reality. Admitting it to Potter was letting the two worlds bleed together in the most uncomfortable of ways. The way that reminded him every time they were together, that yes, Harry held his secrets. His closet of skeletons was open and he couldn’t close the door again. So, in true Malfoy style, the next morning he panicked at the thought of facing Harry after his admission and he stormed off in a proper strope of shame fueled indignation.

He lifted his head as a juvenile unicorn wandered closer to his patch of grass, nibbling little clover flowers as he went. Draco watched the unicorn without real scrutiny. It felt almost pointless to even be here in this patch of grass among them. He fiddled with the corner of Hagrid’s folded letter and huffed.

“So.” He mused, feeling stupid as he looked up to the unicorn. “Fancy donating blood to help cure blood curses?”

The unicorn didn’t acknowledge Draco’s words, or even his presence. He just kept munching the little white clover heads as he slowly walked past Draco towards a cluster of older unicorns. Draco laid his head back down on his journal and moaned in abject misery. What was he doing with his life?

He heard a gentle rustle of underbrush off to his left and lifted his head to see a thestral wander past towards the unicorn Draco had spoken to. He was really coming to enjoy the thestrals. They were slow and deliberate. They didn’t spook, and they didn’t worry themselves with proximity to Draco as the unicorns did. Just that morning, he had walked out the door of the cottage and found five of them sniffing around the mutilated rose bush heaps that had formed a barrier between the clearing and the dense trees. As he walked past and into the forest, they had slowly followed after him. It was becoming a bit of a morning ritual, actually. It made him feel less alone in the forest, and even a bit safer.

Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position and picked mindlessly at a new cut on his hand that he sustained from his hike after stumbling through a bramble patch. He hadn’t worried to heal it yet, as it wasnt so bad. He couldn’t really be bothered. He could hear the soft sounds of another thestral approaching from behind him but didn’t turn around.

He was surprised when a thestral stepped right up next to him, invading his personal space. And he was even more surprised to see the thestral was dripping blood onto his journal off it’s flank where there were 3 long and fresh gashes. Draco grabbed his journal and jumped up backing away from the thestral. It just gazed at him mournfully as the blood trickled down its side. Coming back to himself, Draco realized that the thestral didn’t seem to want to get away from him. In fact, it seemed to be there waiting for Draco to do something.

Draco stepped forward carefully and pulled his wand out. He lifted his other hand and gingerly placed it on the thestral’s side near the deep gashes. The blood on it’s leathery skin was wet under his palm and he was surprised at how warm the creature felt. He raised his wand and began to murmur his healing spell as he wondered what this thestral could have gotten up to to earn these gashes.

The deep lacerations slowly began to knit themselves together as Draco repeated his incantation. Once he was sufficiently pleased with his work, he made to vanished the congealing blood from the thestral’s side, but stopped when he noticed the cut on his hand from early was gone. Draco stared at it. The thestrals blood drying in the lines of his hand, but there was definitely no longer a cut there. Had his healing spell transferred to his hand? That didn’t make sense, he thought, he didn’t do shoddy spell work. The thestrals turned it’s milky stare towards Draco and held his gaze for a long time. Draco felt unnerved by the stare, but neither of them moved. He felt like the thestrals was trying to impart something to him.

Finally Draco had an idea. It was an odd idea, but why the fuck not? This whole interaction was odd. He leaned down and grabbed a few vial out of his pack at his feet. Instead of vanishing the congealing blood, he siphoned it into his potion vial. He would have to investigate this later. Once the thestral was cleaned off, the somber creature turned its steady gaze towards the unicorns and began to stalk off.

Feeling frustrated with the unicorns and intrigued by the unusual behavior of the thestral, Draco gathered his things and headed back towards the cottage, mentally planning a letter to his mother.

_______________________

Draco was startled from his knitting at the kitchen table by two large eagle owls thumping into the window next to him. He jumped up, tossing his lopsided beanie in progress on the table, and quickly let the owls in. They were carrying a rather large wooden crate that was seriously heavy. He was impressed these two owls managed the flight from Wiltshire as quickly as they had . Draco had only written back to Narcissa the day before, asking for any and every book the manor had on thestral and unicorn magic. Although Draco was prepared for sloughing through some serious dark magic tomes, he was hoping that if he read between the lines, he would gather some useful information.

Draco began unloading each book onto the small table when Harry walked into the kitchen. Their ability to converse instead of bicker was improving, and Draco was trying his hardest not to get irrationally mad at his own vulnerabilities in the sharing they did. Sometimes, he was overwhelmed by a desire to lash out at Harry like they had at school, just to keep him at arm’s length. Just so he wouldn’t get too close. But, he knew that was unhealthy. He knew that was just a poor attempt at protecting his fragile sense of security. So, he was really trying to be as genuinely vulnerable with Potter as Potter was with him. It was a fucking chore, even if he was kind of beginning to enjoy Harry’s company, just a little bit.

“What’s all this?” Harry asked, picking up one of the ancient texts and examining the embossed leather cover.

“They’re called books, Potter. Books.” Draco drawled, continuing to pull the books out of the box.

Harry rolled his eyes and smiled, picking up another book and leafing through it. “Fine, you prickly prat, don’t tell me then.”

“They’re books for my research.” Draco said emptying the crate and setting it aside.

“You don’t say.” Harry said distractedly as he studied an etching of a blood sacrifice in one of the books. “Are you planning on sacrificing unicorns on an altar in the name of medicine?”

Draco snorted as he began to unroll the letter from his mother. “Obviously. Will you help me construct the pyre on which to burn their remains? I mean, a half life, a cursed life, how could it possibly be any worse than it already is?”

Harry shot him a look as if he couldn’t be sure of the subtle sarcasm. “You better be fucking joking, Malfoy.” He said with an unsure smirk.

“I’m not even gracing that with a response.” Draco said, rolling his eyes and taking the book from Harry. He grimaced at the explicit etching before closing it and setting it on stack for unicorn research. “Mother sent me all the books the manor has to offer on unicorns as well as thestrals.”

“Thestrals?” Harry asked, tilting his head.

“Yes, the large winged skeletal horses, Potter, do keep up.”

“Oh my god, you’re absolutely insufferable, you know that?” Harry asked, amused and exasperated.

“So you keep saying.” Draco said, sitting down in front of the books, a discreet smile playing at his lips.

“Why thestrals, then?” Harry tried again.

Draco stopped his reorganizing of the books to properly engage with Harry. “I had an interesting incident in the forest yesterday. A thestral approached me with huge gashes down it’s side and allowed me to heal it. Some of it’s blood ended up on my hand where I had a small cut, and by the time I was done healing the creature, my hand was healed as well. Couldn't figure out how. So, I asked mother to send me everything she could and I collected some blood samples to study.”

“Has anyone studied thestral blood before?” Harry asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. You know, the wizarding world is embarrassingly superstitious. We know thestrals are inherently magical, but no one’s tried to figure out what that actually means for us. People just don’t like them.”

“I like them.” Harry shrugged, his voice quieter than it had been.

“I do as well, but we’re not most people.” Draco said emphatically.

“Yeah, most people prefer unicorns I guess. They’re just so... pure. They make people feel like there is such a thing as absolute good in the world.”

“Well,” Draco considered, “with souls as damaged as ours, Potter, I guess we would prefer thestrals.” he said smiling wryly.

“And it certainly seems they prefer us. They’re always around the cottage.”

“I know, and I can’t get within a few meters of the unicorns without them spooking and running off.” he said gesticulating dramatically. “How Hagrid is able to touch them is beyond me.”

“If anyone has a pure and undamaged soul, it’s Hagrid. The man is a saint.” Harry said fondly. “The unicorns can probably sense it.”

Draco thought about this. The whole conversation was esoteric and based on nothing but emotional whimsy, but it felt like there was a ring of truth to it. How does one study the purity of a soul? Is that why the unicorns wouldn't let Draco near them? Was he too damaged? Too broken? Too hardened by the war? Had Hagrid’s heart of gold allowed him to be saved by the unicorns? Draco groaned inwardly, how the fuck was he suppose to study this?

Harry must have sensed Draco’s internal turmoil, as he stood up a few short moments later and announced it was tea time.

_________________

A few days later Draco was kneeling in the garden. Between the two of them they had managed to pull out just over half of the rose bushes and Draco was determined to make the place they occupied beautiful and useful so he could pretend they never existed. He took his sun hat off, wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed his damp hair off his face. He needed a haircut desperately. But the thought of engaging with the outside world really wasn’t appealing. He sat back on his heels and let another wave of apathy wash over him. He was feeling distinctly depressed today. Not only depressed, but filled with abject misery.

That morning he had been hiking and stalking the unicorns. And finally, finally, after weeks, and weeks, and weeks of trying and scheming, he managed to get near a unicorn who had a nosebleed from a strenuous run. The unicorn was too tired to flee away from Draco and resigned itself to dripping it’s foamy silver blood from its nose into Draco’s vial. Draco had been ready to dance with glee and unbridled joy as the vial filled up drop by drop, but as he stood there, a drop of blood landed on his hand. Almost instantly his hand began developing a rash. By the time he had returned to the cottage with a few vials of freely gifted unicorn blood, his whole arm felt itchy and sore as if he had rubbed his arm through poison ivy. He was beyond confused and baffled by the effect of the unicorn blood. He wasn’t even sure such a reaction had ever been documented.

He had been so thrown off by the experience, that he had asked Harry if he wouldn’t mind being subjected to exposure for the sake of research. Harry agreed and Draco handed him a vial while he dug in his bag for a swab to run the test, but while Harry was just holding the vial his hand began to show signs of developing a rash as well. Draco quickly took the vial back from Harry and set it on the counter and grabbed his hand to examine it. Even without having direct contact, the blood began to create the same swollen red welts on his hand and Harry had complained that he felt itchy. Draco had made them a chamomile and comfrey poultice which helped bring the swelling and itchiness down after a few hours.

Now, here he sat, fucking confused and irritated and lost. His theories on unicorn blood had been way off base, and he seemed to be at a dead end. How was he even supposed to experiment with it when simply touching the bottle created a caustic reaction? Perhaps they weren’t pure enough souls, after all.

He replaced his hat, sighing, continuing to turn the soil over in the old rose hedge and prepared the area for planting. From his pocket he withdrew a few old crinkled envelopes with faded writing on them full of old seeds. Harry had found the seeds in the back of a closet along with old smutty wizarding romance novels and some moth eaten afghans. They weren’t sure if the seeds would even germinate, being god knows how old, but they were both intrigued. So, Draco plated his rows of beans, carrots, spinach, and peas. After mulching and watering the beds he sat down to admire his work and brood on the prospects of his research.

He turned his attention to Harry, who was chopping wood off to the side of his house. He was getting stronger, and, with regular meals, he wasn’t looking so wasted and pale. He was regaining the bronze glow of his dark skin and his thin body, once hardened by years of auror training, was beginning to redefine itself. Harry’s hair was also becoming long, much more wild. It was a mangled sweaty mess plastering itself to his forehead and the back of his neck and Draco was struck with a desire to push it off of his face.

He watched as Harry swung the axe down and split a log, his face contorting with effort. This man that Draco had spent the last two months with was nothing like the Potter he had remembered from his days at school. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was still a bit of a prat and seemed to enjoy goading Draco for the sake of it, and with each passing day he seemed to gain more and more confidence and self assurance in Draco’s presence. But, he wasn’t the attention seeking golden boy he seemed to imagine Potter was. He was shy and reserved. It seemed the loud reactionary child in school was a direct result of Draco’s equally loud and reactionary self. Harry looked up from his work and met Draco’s gaze. Draco felt his face flush and turned away. Why was he blushing? It wasn’t like he was checking Potter out. Right?

No, of course not. This was entirely medical and morbid curiosity. He just needs to keep an eye on Potter to ensure he’s healing. Right?

Draco sighed again. He was doing that a lot lately. Draco thought back to when Potter had asked him if he was seeing anyone and felt himself flush again, wondering why he wanted to know. Probably more morbid curiosity, he reasoned. He wondered what the savior’s dating history looked like. It didn’t seem likely that he was currently in a relationship judging by the state of Grimmauld Place or the fact that Potter only ever seemed to mention Ron and Hermione when he did allude to his social circle. He wondered why Harry had assumed Draco was gay. Was it that obvious? Did he just exude gay vibes or something? His parents had seemed pretty fucking shocked when he told them.

His father had been stoney with distaste when he found out Draco had been fooling around with Theodore Nott and Lucius and Narcissa responded to Draco’s confession by setting up a “premarital matching” with Astoria Greengrass in his 5th year. He shivered at the memory of being in a forced sexual situation with a girl without his consent. Well, he supposed, that was what he got for thinking he could be honest with his parents. They were convinced that he didn’t know what he was talking about and he clearly hadn’t tried hard enough with girls, even though Draco had never once thought a positive or sexual thing about a vagina in his life. It usually didn’t matter if a pureblood was gay or what their preferences were, so long as they were capable of producing an heir. After his truly horrifying and embarrassing experience with Astoria, he knew he couldn’t impregnate anyone without the help of a lot of potions and a lot of alcohol. He was as gay as gay can be, and his father resented him for the weakness of not being able to copulate with a woman for the perfunctory purpose of reproducing. He pushed the thought aside, feeling nauseated.

He didn’t think he’d ever be capable of having a healthy sexual relationship with anyone. His parents well and truly fucked up, and that was even before he had been designated the weekend rentboy for the depravities of the Death Eaters in his home. It’s not as if he wasn’t interested in sex, either, he just didn’t know how to unpack his baggage after that. How could he ever open up and show these dark parts of himself to another person without scaring them off? He had given up on thinking it was possible.

Harry’s voice cut through Draco’s wallowing, “Hey, can I make dinner tonight?”

Draco cast him an appraising look, trying not to look at anything other than his face. “Do you know how to make anything other than peanut butter and jam sandwiches?”

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped the axe. “I can make Bolognese?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“Both?”

“Good lord.” Draco sighed again.

“I don’t have to.” Harry started, looking self conscious. “It’s just you’ve been doing all the cooking and I thought I could return the favor.” He wasn’t looking at Draco.

“Okay.” He said simply. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Harry smiled a small smile, looking relieved and pleased and turned to walk inside. After a few moments, Draco followed.


	8. The Rowan Grove

The Rowan Grove  
June 04, 2008

It was early morning, with fine mist still clinging to the trunks of ancient elm trees and gnarled oaks, moss carpeting the plants and stones that jutted out from the nearly black soil, ferns unrolling lazily in the warming air. Harry could hear a stream in the distance, cutting across the new growth of summer, snaking across the miles of untouched wilderness. He breathed in the smell of wet soil and leaves, running his hand across the deeply furrowed bark of an impressive wych elm, it’s roots covered in wood sorrel and violets, their purple and white flowers carpeting the path at Harry’s feet. He was smiling to himself, full of the gentle quiet of the forest in summer. 

He let his hand drag along the tops of ferns as he continued on, the sound of a rushing stream growing louder, and the path dipping down and disappearing into the riverbank below. Alder trees hung their branches across the steadily flowing brook, a willow in the distance trailed its leaves in the water below. Stones of the river bed formed a natural bridge and sequestered little pools at the edges, where eddies circled, the water dark with tannin. He had come here often since he had started exploring the area around the cabin, and he picked his way across easily, his old trainers gripping the stones as he jumped from one to the next, his jeans rolled up around his ankles. 

He disturbed a river otter on his way up the opposite bank, who loped and shuffled his way lazily into the refuge of the stream, circling and diving with grace and ease. “Hi Alice.” Harry greeted her as he summited the small rocky outcropping. He turned and saw her flip onto her back, gnawing on something clutched between her claws. Harry huffed out a laugh and disappeared into the grove of Rowans to the West, bluebells shedding the dew they had collected as he brushed past. 

The Rowan grove had quickly become his favorite spot to sit and think - a place of such gentle quiet, Harry could easily slip beneath the branches of his usual tree and pass hours reading and whittling away fallen branches into tiny woodland creatures. He had found the small knife in the meagre supply of tools at the cabin, and had pocketed it for protection the first day he had ventured out alone. 

Once he realised that nothing in the forest seemed to care much about him at all, he’d brought it out to shape little bits of wood into the creatures he met along the way. His first attempt had been of one of the river otters by the stream, but it hadn’t been much more than a rotund oval with four different lengthed legs and a misshapen head. Carving had taken far more patience and skill than he had first anticipated, but he liked the challenge, and it kept his mind and his hands busy, especially while he couldn’t do magic. The little otter had reminded him of Hermione, images of her playful patronus bubbling up from the past, the only spell she had really ever struggled to cast. He tried not to think of her and Ron and Rose too often. The owls had stopped coming so regularly, and Harry still hadn’t gotten the courage up to accept one of the letters. He was making so much progress, and he was so relieved to be away from the world outside the forest, he wasn’t sure he could open that door, not yet, anyway. 

Harry stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back against his old rowan and contemplating the small glade ahead of him. It was full of tall grasses and foxgloves in full bloom, their bright rows of bell like flowers housing the busy grumblings of bumblebees. Harry had gotten overwhelmed with the buzzing the first day he had come, his heart going fast and his focus bleeding away into a haze of craving and tightening around his upper back, but he had stood there, slowly stretching himself right, swallowing down the feelings, focusing on the idea that, like making tea, he could do this, and it would be alright. And, eventually, it was. 

Today was much the same as the days before, however, and Harry had come to like and appreciate the tireless ethic of the rather large and ungainly insect, bustling between the many blooms, pollen coating it’s black backside. He reached into a satchel he had been borrowing from Malfoy and pulled out one of the books on dark magic that Narcissa had sent. _Rites for the Pureblood Household_ was thick and the green leather binding with silver filigree was worn, the pages well turned. 

Harry had taken a liking to leafing through the many unusual books that Malfoy had procured, and he took particular interest in reading about spells, potions and rituals that made his days in Defense Against the Dark Arts look like child’s play. He had gained more of an understanding about Malfoy this way, too - growing up in a household where this was a family pastime, it couldn’t have been healthy. Of course, growing up with the Dursleys hadn’t been nurturing and loving either, but they were so incredibly blatant about their hatred of him, and their preference for their own son, it had been easy to know that what they were doing was wrong. Immoral. To be raised in a household where such nasty things were cloaked in affection and love and care and preference? To be bound to ideas by honor and family and fidelity and loyalty? It was poisonous. Insidious and vile. 

He had told himself he took the books out to learn more about the dark arts, but what he really wanted was to help Malfoy with his research in some way - he hadn’t let him come with to go sit with the unicorn herds, but Harry had wanted to be useful nonetheless, and they both knew it wouldn’t be with the potions side of things. His work was important. Harry believed it would help many people, and he wanted Malfoy to succeed in it. 

Harry flipped through a section on taking unwilling pureblood brides captive and bonding them in servitude of their new households and wrinkled his nose. The section on ensuring a fulfilling wedding night and conception of an heir was particularly nauseating. He shut the book after a particularly gruesome passage on incantations to force a person to open themselves up to your advances, to encourage compliance and feign enjoyment. How did this not qualify as unforgivable? Harry bit down on the anger boiling up in him. He had been struck by the thought that maybe Malfoy had these things done to him. 

Harry stuffed the offensive text back into the satchel and leaned his head back, looking up through the canopy of leafy green to the bright blue of the sky beyond, focusing on relaxing his hands and then his arms. His shoulders were last, and by the time he had managed to let the tension fade away, he was confronted with the fact that he cared about Malfoy. He was a good person, a friend, and he didn’t deserve the things that had happened, or the prejudice he had been gifted after the war. He was just trying to survive, just as Harry had been. 

The sun was rising higher and warming the forest, reaching deep down even to the shady spots beneath the trees, covered in lichen and mosses. Everything was calm and beautiful and still, and he felt decidedly comfortable, comforted, even. Maybe this is what he had been seeking, all those nights desperate for a reprieve from his own life. This was healing too, in a new way, a way that didn’t leave him with the empty sour burning of guilt and the metallic ring of shame - no, this was good. 

Harry reached in his pocket to feel the familiar Holly of his wand - his thumb tracing a favorite groove. He felt soft pulling and tingling of magic beneath his hand, a feeling that had been steadily growing stronger and more sure since the night he had managed to cast lumos. He hadn’t succeeded in any more spells, but he didn’t feel like rushing the process, either. It would come back. He had to do the work first, though. He was comforted by the fact that all of his anger had been his own, and hadn’t escaped in his magic, hadn’t boiled over into something uncontrollable and flighty, as it had before. 

Harry picked up a thick piece of branch that had fallen not long before in one of the last storms of spring. He broke a piece free and ran his hands over the light and supple wood. He pulled the little wood knife from his pocket and began pulling it across the thin layer of bark, exposing the pretty blonde grain beneath. Harry smiled to himself - the color was eerily close to Malfoy’s nearly white hair. He decided right then he would make him something. Something small, just to show his gratitude. He wasn’t helping much with the unicorn problem, so this would have to do. 

He spent the next few hours pulling the blade across the wood and imaging what the chunky bit of branch might yield. His hands were sore and blisters were forming, and he’d knicked two fingers already, but it was soothing and carefree there in his circle of Rowans, and the time passed easily. 

He pushed his dark hair from his forehead, it having grown completely wild and utterly untameable in the months since he had come to live in Tenebris Hollow. He let his thoughts drift as he looked out across the small glen, the rowan trees circling the foxgloves and the flycatchers and pipits chattering at each other from their various vantages. He caught sight of a red deer emerging from the opposite edge of forest, it’s coat lightly dappled and blending in to the shade and shadows of the forest underbrush - it was a doe, her movements soft and careful as she skirted the open area of high grass. Harry didn’t move, and watched her lift her graceful neck and scent the air, no doubt scanning the area for hidden dangers. 

She was beautiful and delicate, and he admired her for several minutes, not wanting to move and frighten her off. He couldn’t not think of his mother, Lily. Or of Snape. Of all of the animals and creatures that a patronus could manifest as, Harry would have never, ever associated Snape with the gentle forest grazer before him. It was hard to imagine him as someone cautious and soft, but then, he hadn’t ever known the real Severus Snape, had he? He had known the anger and bitterness of someone who had sacrificed themselves for something he believed in. For love. And the spiteful hatred that had followed. 

In the distance, Harry heard the low call of a stag, and the red doe trotted off to the South. 

__________________

It was a few nights later when Harry lay staring at the now familiar rafters and hanging herbs, his sheets kicked from his sweaty legs in the sticky summer air. He had just woken from a dream, one he was desperately trying to cling to, to analyse, to make sense of. It was sixth year again, and he had been following Malfoy in the dead of night, tailing him with the marauder's map, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak. The familiar rush of excitement and enthusiasm for the chase had led him out of the castle and down to the edge of the forbidden forest. Malfoy hadn’t once looked back as he strode across the lawn and into the trees, his robes sweeping around his long legs and his blonde hair easily visible as Harry followed. 

He had caught up to him, standing just past where the trees had thinned, moon flowers blooming big on vines that snaked up the towering trunks of silver birches, their blue and yellow flowers drinking in the reflected light. Malfoy was standing in the middle of the clearing, his head low and his shoulders slack, as if the weight of his arms alone was too much for them to carry. He looked soft and gentle, but it was sixth year and Harry knew in his gut he was scared and surrounded by decisions he wanted nothing to do with. Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from around his shoulders and stepped towards Malfoy. He wanted him to know he knew. He knew about the threats to his family, about his obligations, about the torture, the pain and fear. He wanted Malfoy to know he understood, that he was safe to talk to. That he could help. He was safe. 

Harry stepped up behind him, sliding his hands around his sides and up on to his chest, pulling him back softly as he lay his forehead against the back of soft blonde hair, his lips against the back of his neck. Iridescent beetles with blue lights on the ends of their antennae took flight from the grass around them, skittering away from the two figures. 

“Draco.” He whispered against the pale skin, his voice breaking the stillness of the forest, shimmers of magic rippling away from them. Beneath his hands he felt the steady beat of his heart, felt his chest rising and falling with even breaths. He smelled of soft lavender and mint, and his pale hands came up to his chest, covering Harry’s. 

They stood together, Draco leaning back against Harry’s chest, and Harry holding them both steady. 

The hooting of an owl had broke through from Tenebris hollow and into the dream, and before Harry had realised what was happening, he was awake, laying in his bed, contemplating what this dream could mean. It had stirred in him feelings he hadn’t felt in … well, since before the war. It was confusing, but full of tenderness and hope, and Harry had loved it.


	9. The Bonfire

The Bonfire  
June 05, 2008 

Draco woke up early on the morning of his birthday. He didn’t intend on celebrating, but before he had even finished his tea he had received six birthday owls. He felt gratitude that his friends hadn’t forgotten him, even in his absence from their lives. 

He decided that since it was his birthday, he wasn’t going to work on his dead end research. He had spent every morning since receiving the unicorn blood experimenting with it in his potions corner of the cottage. He was determined to put it through every feasible test he could to determine that it was indeed useless. He felt absolutely defeated, convinced that his entire sabbatical would be for nothing. No matter what he did to the unicorn blood, it made every remedy, every potion, every spell not only useless but sometimes even dangerous. The blood cleaning potion he tried to make with it ate its way through the beaker he poured it into. There was no way he could have fed that to someone, let alone someone ill. 

No, today was his birthday, so he decided he would work in the garden, pull out the last rose bush, then finish knitting the yellow rue scarf he was making - planning on sending it to Neville for his birthday next month. Perhaps he would write to his mother and Beatrice while he was at it. He just wanted a quiet day. 

Shortly after he finished making breakfast, Harry stirred on the top bunk. Draco cleaned his own plate while Harry dismounted the bunk and set about his morning rituals. Leaving Harry’s food under a warming charm he put on his gardening clothes, donned his sun hat and walked out the back of the cottage and into the little garden. 

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. 

It was like a dirt bomb went off while they were sleeping. All of the neat little raised garden beds they had been tending had been dug through and torn up. Every tender little shoot and growing seedling that had pushed up towards the sun over the last month had been chomped down to the roots. Even the pile of dead rose bushes had been disassembled and scattered. The compost heap laid flat, the potion herbs, half crushed. It looked like a giant had come through and stomped on everything. How could so much devastation happen in the night without a sound? He walked forward towards the bed where he had planted all of the ancient seeds Potter had found and stared down at a blank mess of disturbed mulch. Everything that had been growing was gone. Laying on top of a large gouge mark in the fertile soil were two porcupine quills. 

Son of a - Draco thought, closing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose as he prayed for patience and calm. He took a few deep steadying breaths while he stood there in front of all his hard work gone to shit. His research was shit. His garden was shit. His shitty knitting was shit. He couldn’t even grow a fucking pea plant without some accursed quilled rodent coming along and ruining what little joy he tried to cultivate. He felt the familiar buzzing in his limbs and the numbness in his lips that preceded a panic attack. No, he thought as the bees got louder in his ears. 

“No! I am not having a meltdown over this fucking garden!” He yelled to himself. He used his rage to push through the quickly vanishing feeling in his limbs and started stomping off towards the forest. He just needed to get the fuck away from here. 

“Malfoy, you alright? What happened?” He heard Potter calling, from what sounded like the other end of a long tunnel, his voice laced with uncertainty and confusion. 

Draco just threw his one hand up in the air as he marched into the trees as if to halt any further inquiries and yelled, “FUCKING PORCUPINES!” before disappearing from view of the cottage. 

He was certain he must have seemed completely unhinged to Potter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He stomped off, huffing in great lungfuls of air as he tried to push off the rising adrenaline in his system. He felt completely out of control, and so absolutely furious. He knew the panic attack was inevitable, but he was fighting it with everything he had, overwhelmed with a sense of growing despair. 

Eventually he was taken over by the wave of adrenaline and panic, his surroundings vanished as he stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, and all he could hear were the swarm of angry bees in his ears as he let out a choked sob. 

He didn’t know how long he had been laying on the forest path with his knees under him and his hands bracing against the hard earth, but when his vision came back into focus and his breathing felt less labored he was surprised to see he wasn’t alone. The buzzing was subsiding and he was regaining feeling in his lips as he looked up and took in the sight of three mildly interested thestrals and one very concerned looking Potter. 

Draco pushed himself back into a sitting position and tried to regain some composure. He suddenly realized that he had been crying as the wetness on his cheeks were cooled in the breeze. He felt like he had no dignity left. This was the second panic attack Potter had witnessed, and now he was crying, could that get anymore embarrassing?

Harry was sitting on the ground directly in front of Draco, who was shocked when he felt a rough thumb swipe across his cheek to wipe away the last of the wetness on his face. Harry dropped his hand away quickly when Draco’s eyes met his.

“Sorry.” They both said at the same time. They looked at each other with mild expressions of curiosity and sheepishness. 

“Fancy a walk?” Potter asked after an awkward moment of silence. 

Draco looked back up at him and nodded. Harry jumped up and extended a hand to Draco, helping him to his feet before stepping back quickly and beginning to walk further away from the cottage. Draco brushed the detritus from his clothes and wiped the last of the tears from his face, trying to pull himself back together before going forward.

“Where are we going?” Draco asked, following his lead. 

“You’ll see.” was all he got in return. 

The thestrals who had watched the entire exchange with somber expressions now began to amble behind them. 

“We have company.” Harry said, noticing the odd procession behind them and smiling like a loon. 

“Indeed, we do.” Draco said, feeling uplifted by Harry’s easy manner in the face of Draco’s distress. 

“So aside from pulling carriage, and having a great sense of direction, what else do thestrals do?” He asked, looking sideways at Draco. 

“Well.” He pondered. “I don’t actually know. I haven’t gotten through the thestral books my mother sent me, yet. Accompany us wherever we go, apparently.” Draco shrugged. 

“You know the Elder Wand core was a thestral tail hair.” Harry threw out like it was a comment on the weather. 

“What?” Draco asked sharply, his previous panic fading from his mind. “How do you know that?”

Harry shrugged. “You know I had the Elder Wand.” 

“Yes. I know.” Draco said warily. 

“And, you were technically master of the Elder Wand, for a while.” Harry said looking over at him, one eyebrow raised and a hint of a smile on his face. 

Draco just shot him a searching look. Yes, he technically knew this because Harry had shouted it at Voldemort during the final battle, but he didn’t know how that made him feel or what to really think about it. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we were both master of the Elder Wand? And then it was your wand that finished him off?” Harry looked pensive. 

“Sure, weird is one word for it.”

Harry huffed a cynical sounding laugh. 

“I wonder if the other hallows are real.” Draco wondered aloud. “Pureblood families tell the story of the three brothers to their kids all the time, but we all assumed it was make believe. But, I mean, if the Elder Wand was real, maybe the other two aren’t so far fetched. An invisibility cloak would be pretty useful.” 

Harry was silently staring ahead before taking a deep breath and saying, “Well, they are real. All three of them are real.”

“How could you possibly know that? And what are the chances?” Draco asked incredulously. 

“Didn’t you ever wonder how I was able to sneak around school without being caught?” Harry asked with mischievous smirk worthy of Draco himself. Draco stopped walking. 

“I thought Snape was fucking joking about you having an invisibility cloak.” His eyebrows were in danger of being lost in his hairline, his mouth hung open in complete disbelief. 

“Nope.” Harry said as he kept walking, a smile back on his face. “Snape was on to me. It drove him mad. My dad had it when he was at Hogwarts, as well. Seems like tormenting Snape is a bit of a family tradition at this point.”

“I can’t believe this. Where is it now?” Draco asked earnestly. 

“Well, it’s at Grimmauld Place, for the moment.” Harry shrugged, his smile fading slightly. 

“Don’t tell me you have the resurrection stone, too, and you left it in that derelict building?”

Any hint of a smile slid off Harry’s face entirely at the mention of the stone. “No, I don’t have the stone.” He said sadly, looking at the ground as they turned in the path and began to pick through lush ferns towards the sound of water. “Not anymore.” He added softly. So softly, Draco almost didn’t catch it. 

“What do you mean, not anymore?” Draco asked cautiously. 

They came out of the undergrowth of ferns and onto a gentle river bank buffeted by huge trees guarding over the quiet water. Harry jumped his way onto stones in the water with comfortable ease. It was obvious he’d spent time here. He held his hand out to Draco to help him across the water and they hopped onto a large flat boulder jutting into the water, covered in dappled lighting. 

Sitting down, Harry finally spoke. “Do you remember in the final battle, when I walked into the forest to face Voldemort?”

“Yes.” Draco said immediately. Who didn’t remember that? Draco would never forget thinking Harry had died and that all hope was lost. 

“Well, Dumbledore had given me the resurrection stone. I used it before going to face him. It was part of the plan for me to be killed, and Dumbledore gave me the stone so I could have my loved ones with me to bring me to the other side. It brought me my parents, Remus, Sirius, the people I loved and lost. And they walked with me to face him.”

Draco sat dumbly quiet. What did you say to that confession?

“And then I died. I chose to die. It was the only way, at the time, to allow him to kill me. To surrender. Here in this very forest.” He said, laying back and stretching his arms above his head, closing his eyes. 

“You died?” Draco asked. He had heard rumors, but no one could ever satisfactorily explain them. “My mother said that the spell didn’t work, just like when you were a baby, and that you were alive when she came to check your body.”

“No. I died. I died and came back by the time she walked over to me - I decided to come back.” Harry said, sounding exhausted. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Can I ask why you came back?” Draco said, his expression soft, knowing he was in dangerously unsure territory.

Harry shot him a curious look. 

“Because I needed to end it. I was the only one who could do it.” he said closing his eyes again. 

“Do you regret coming back?” Draco asked, his morbid curiosity increasing. He didn’t know if he would have been selfless enough to come back if he had been in Harry’s position. 

“Sometimes.” He said eventually. They were quiet for a long while. Draco had laid down as well and stared up at the leaves. “You going to tell me about your panic attack now?” Harry asked.

Draco smiled a little. It was such a Slytherin habit they had developed. Trading vulnerabilities. Trading secrets. It meant neither of them were at an advantage over the other. They were both on even ground. 

He let out a long breath. “Honestly, I don’t know where exactly that one came from.” He said. “Sometimes they don’t make sense. Sometimes I can’t identify the trigger.”

“Porcupines?” Harry suggested, innocently.

“Yes, Potter. It was definitely the porcupines.” They were quiet for another long moment before Draco spoke again. “I just wanted to do something good.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“I mean, I feel like I’m at a dead end with this research and I need something to come out of my time here so it’s not a complete waste.” He was quiet for a moment but Harry didn’t push him. “I- I just wanted to create something beautiful in the garden. Something living and growing. So, when I saw it destroyed, it just- it just felt like, oh well, typical. And it was just the last straw, I snapped.” 

He saw Harry nod out of the corner of his eye. Draco was sure he must seem completely barmy. 

“And, for my birthday, I just really wanted to incendio all those hideous carcasses of rose bushes.” Draco said honestly. “And I feel so insulted the porcupines felt it necessary to tear down the pyre.” he smirked sadly. 

Harry snorted. “It’s your birthday?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Happy Birthday.” Harry said. 

“Thank you.” Draco replied. 

They had passed a soothing hour trading more stories, and eventually walked back to the cottage. Draco couldn’t bear the sight of their mangled garden so he just walked straight inside and picked up his knitting after fastidiously checking his encourage-mint, who was flourishing in the kitchen window. At least he could keep one plant alive, he thought bitterly. He would deal with the garden later. Draco spent the rest of his morning finishing Neville’s scarf, cleaning, writing letters, and making lunch with Harry, who had been in and out all morning doing god know what. 

In the late afternoon, when he finally decided he would face the mess outside, he was shocked to see that it had been cleaned up admirably well. The beds were tidied, the last rose bush had been ripped out and the pile neatened, and the compost heap repaired. And, to top it all off, the most impressive feat was a simple wattle fence that had been constructed around the garden. 

He just stared in dumbfounded disbelief. “Potter?”

Harry turned around from fastening another wattle stake in the fence. “Oh, uh, happy birthday?” He said with an awkward smile. 

Draco didn’t know what to say. 

“I, uh, I’ll need help reinforcing the fence with magic, but I think it should do the trick to keeping those fuckers out.” He ran his hands through his mop of hair and turned to face Draco. 

“Thank you.” Draco finally said, staring at the fence. 

Harry shrugged, then said, “Wait, there’s something else, too” Before running back into the house. 

Draco stood there and looked at the assembled pile of dead and dying rose bushes and felt a settled sense of gratitude that Harry never asked about why Draco wanted them dead, nor did he make any disparaging comments about it. He just nodded and helped. 

Harry came back out of the house with a paper bag full of stuff. Setting the bag down next to Draco he pulled out a box of something called graham crackers, 2 large slabs of chocolate, and a basket full of marshmallows. 

“What is happening?” Draco asked, with mounting confusion. 

“Well, first I need you to incendio the shit out of this mound of offensive thorny excuses for flowers. Second, we’re going to roast marshmallows on their burning corpses and eat s’mores.” Harry concluded with a satisfied grin. 

Draco couldn’t help but smile, his heart felt lighter than it had in such a long time. “What are s’mores?” He asked. 

“A muggle dessert that they make when they go camping.” Harry explained as he began setting everything out on the ground on a cloth. 

“What’s camping?” Draco asked as he watched Harry work. 

Harry looked up. “You don’t know what camping is?”

“Should I?” He asked, feeling confused. 

Harry shrugged, tearing open the box of crackers, “Like, sleeping in a tent in the wilderness. Remember, like at the quidditch world cup? Only they don’t use magical tents.”

“Huh.” Draco responded, unsure of how to process this information. 

Harry finished laying out all the bits and pieces for the mysterious s’mores they were about to participate in, and then he began scanning the ground for something Draco couldn’t see. “What are you looking for?” 

“Sticks, for roasting the marshmallows over the fire.” He explained as he picked up a long skinny stick, and weighed it in his hand with consideration. Eventually, Harry found two sticks that met his mysterious marshmallow criteria and walked back to Draco. “Are you ready?” he asked, gesturing at the large pile of prickly branches. 

“You have no idea.” Draco said, turning his face stonily to glare at the roses. With a feeling of cathartic release, he wordlessly cast the strongest incendio he could at the mass of tangled thorns. The whole pile went up in a spectacular ball of fire that forced them both to take a large step back. He felt a grin spread across his face as he turned to Harry who handed him a stick with two of the squishy marshmallows on it. He followed Harry’s lead, and they spent the rest of the afternoon watching the pile of roses be reduced to a smoldering heap of ash while steadily eating their way through the entire supply of s’mores components. It was the best birthday he had had in years. 

Late in the evening, when the pyre had burned down to a more manageable size, and Harry had brought out the kitchen chairs to sit by the edge of the flames, he had asked Draco, “So, what do you want for this year?” 

Draco took a long time to answer as he ate another burnt marshmallow. “I want to be comfortable with who I am.” He finally said. Not looking at Harry. He wasn’t sure if Harry had ever seen the inside of the kitchen cabinet full of Draco’s post-it notes of hope and affirmations, but he had never mentioned them to Draco before. 

“Fuck,” Harry said, sitting back in his chair, contemplating his own burning marshmallow, letting the fire blacken it before blowing it out and sticking it on a slab of chocolate, no longer bothering with the graham cracker. “Sounds nice, honestly.” 

“Yeah.” Draco said. “Still can’t figure out if its a pipe dream or not, but it does sound nice.”

“I remember your notes, you know, from your apartment.” Harry said, watching the fire burning down on the most stubborn of the remaining branches.

“I thought I had died when I woke up. That’s how it was the last time, in the forest, I woke up naked in an all white room. It looked like King’s Cross Station, though. So, when I woke up in your apartment, I thought that was it. That I had done it. I was reading your notes thinking that I’d finally found somewhere that was making me feel good about myself.” 

Harry smiled, still watching the flames. “Until the last one. That’s when I knew I wasn’t dead, and the words of encouragement weren’t for me.” 

Draco couldn’t look away. 

“You are more than your dark mark.” Harry recited, finally looking up to meet Draco’s gaze. His smile stayed, giving him an easy, contented expression. “You are, you know. More than a mark. A lot more.” His words were genuine, and Harry said them easily. Draco looked away, overcome with emotion.

“If you had asked me a year ago, hell, even six months ago, I don’t know what I would’ve said, but today, I know. I know who you are, Draco Malfoy, and the mark on your arm is one chapter in a life full of kindness and goodness. The mark is both the most and least interesting thing about you.” 

Draco was at a loss for words. He felt inherently uncomfortable with Harry’s seemingly effortless, kind words about him. He had to work not to fidget in his seat. Eventually, he swallowed hard and looked up at Harry and nodded. What could he say to that? No one had ever said such soft words to him about his mark, of all things. 

“I know you try to hide it, and I don’t blame you for it, really, but I wish you didn’t. You shouldn’t feel ashamed. It’s something you had to do, like dying was something I had to do. It’s dark parts of us that make people uncomfortable, but to deny them is being dishonest with ourselves. It made us who we are, for better, not for worse.” 

“When did you become so sage?” Draco asked, trying to beat back the swelling upsurge of emotion in his chest. He was not going to cry in front of Harry twice in one day. 

“Somewhere right around me destroying my own life, killing myself, getting rescued and having a whole lot of humility and respect for the idea that I need to accept who I am, darkness and all.” Harry scrubbed his face, his smile faltering, but only for a moment. 

“You’re more than who I thought you were, too. More than famous Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world.” Draco said quietly. “I know I said I kept your note that night to remind myself that you’re also human, but if I’m honest, I couldn’t take how lonely it sounded. For someone so loved by everyone, it seemed as though you were so alone.” Draco said, trying to do this honesty thing. 

The smile faded from Harry’s face and he turned back toward the fire. Draco could see the deep lines of his scowl, flickering in the light of the flames. 

“Do you still have it?” Harry asked, his voice deep and gruff and full of determination.

 

Draco looked up from the fire at Harry and saw the sadness in his face. “Yes.”

 

“Can I have it back, please?” Harry said, closing his eyes for a moment, looking as though he was struggling to keep his emotions under control. 

Without a word, Draco withdrew the crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over to Harry. 

Without unfolding it, Harry held it in his hand for a moment, before standing up and unceremoniously tossing it into the middle of the flames, watching as it caught alight and blackened, before disintegrating into nothing but ash. 

Before he could stop himself, Draco reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. Harry seemed surprised by the small gesture, but Draco had pulled away before he could react. 

“Why’d you keep it with you?” Harry asked, finally turning to retake his chair at the fireside next to Draco. 

“To keep it safe, until you wanted it back.” Draco said softly. 

Harry’s smile returned, his features relaxing. “You were right, you know. I was incredibly lonely. I thought I wasn’t, but I was. It took me too long to see what was really happening, and by then I was so isolated I didn’t know where to turn.” 

Draco hummed in agreement. He understood lonely. 

“I’m not lonely anymore.” Harry said, simply. 

Draco smiled, “Me either.”


	10. Remnants of Cruciatus

Remnants of Cruciatus  
July 10, 2008

Harry had been antsy all day. He had struggled to get up in the morning after a night of dreams of being subjected to the cruciatus curse. It was amorphous and confusing, but he distinctly heard Bellatrix laughing as she held him under, the pain enveloping his mind, sending lightning through his limbs, down his spine. Just rounds and endless rounds of the cold sound of crucio on the mouths of people who delighted in his pain. 

He had tried to shake it off by working in the garden, but his body was stiff, and every little ache and pain was a reminder. By midday, he was feeling incredibly raw and frustrated, and a little bit scared. He had started fantasizing about ways to stop the pain, and he knew it was only a short moment from there to fantasizing about heroin. He felt his mouth filling with saliva at the thought, his body crumpling a bit, as if to remind him how sweet the release would be to just give in. 

By dinner, he had snapped at Malfoy four separate times. They had hardly said more than ten words to each other all day, and none of it held the casual familiarity and soft consideration that had become part of their friendship. He had tried to read to keep his mind busy, but it hadn’t worked, and he just found himself angrily reading the same sentences over and over again, his mind drifting off to Sirius’s room and The Gallows and all of the things that had once defined his life. And his death. It was as though his hackles were raised, and he couldn’t bring himself to relax them down. 

Malfoy had gone to sleep early, probably to avoid Harry’s horrible mood, but Harry couldn’t stop feeling edgy and like his skin was shivering, even though he was hot all over. It was overwhelming. It was a reminder of all of the things he had worked so hard to get away from. 

He paced back and forth from the kitchen to the little bunk bed in the corner. He was trying to be quiet not to wake Malfoy, but he also desperately didn’t want to be alone. He wanted Malfoy to comfort him. He wanted words of wisdom and normalcy and care. He wanted to not feel so alone. 

He walked over to where Malfoy was snoring softly and gently touched his shoulder. 

“Malfoy.” He said softly, feeling profoundly embarrassed, but not knowing what else to do. 

“Hmph.” The sound from under the light summer quilt confirmed that Malfoy was indeed awake. 

Harry took a deep breath, and before he could stop himself, he was frantically rambling. 

“Malfoy. I’m sorry to wake you up. I’m sorry for my shit behavior all day today. It’s just. I’m... I’m struggling with something and it feels really awful and I don’t know what to do. It’s scary. I feel like I want to use, but… the rest of me doesn’t want to. I like being sober. I do. I’ve been doing so well, and, now, all of a sudden, I wake up sore after all these nightmares of Bellatrix hitting me with the cruciatus curse and it’s been after me all day. It’s making me worried. Like, maybe I don’t have as good of a handle on things as I thought I did. Maybe I’m a lot weaker than I thought. Or, mentally, I’m not going to be able to say no.” 

All of the fears of the whole day came streaming out and he couldn’t help himself. He was worrying his hands and musing his hair and walking back and forth and he couldn’t believe he was saying all of these things. 

Malfoy rolled over and looked up at him, Harry stopped mid-pace, his face open and full of fear, body full of tension. 

“It’s ok, Potter. You’re ok. This is normal.” He said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“How is this normal, Malfoy? I don’t feel ok. I feel sick. And scared. And like I did in that first week, almost. Like my skin is crawling.” Harry had stepped forward, and he was laying everything on the table. This was it, it was time to be vulnerable. Keeping secrets had nearly killed him, and he wanted things to be different this time around. 

Malfoy looked at him a moment longer, his eyes sleepy but seeming to take in how badly Harry was handling things at the moment. 

“Ok,” he said, scooting over and lifting up the quilt. “Come on, then.” 

Harry stared at him, but only for a second, before crawling in to the warm sheets and letting Malfoy drape his arm over his shoulder so he could rub his back in slow, soothing circles. This left Harry with his head almost laying on Malfoy’s chest, his knees curled up against his, one hand draped over his chest. 

Harry was so grateful for the contact. He instantly felt less raw, less needy, less panicked. Malfoy’s hand on his back was a gentle reminder that he was safe and nothing had changed, he was still in Tenebris Hollow, still sober and not in danger of running off to get drugs, he just had to get through this feeling and he would be okay, right? 

As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy spoke into the mess of hair below his chin. “This is completely normal, Potter. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, honestly. Recovery isn’t linear. You don’t just wake up magically cured from addiction. Some days are much harder or worse than others, and some days are easy.” 

Harry took a deep breath in, his exhale sighing out against Malfoy’s pyjama covered chest. He knew that, he thought, it was just felt distant and unreal until the words had come out of someone else’s mouth. 

“Will it always be this hard?” Harry asked, his voice small and his normally self-assured personality hidden beneath his uncertainty for the future. 

Malfoy paused a moment in his gentle rubbing and thought. “I don’t know,” he said, finally. “But, even if it is, I know you can handle it.” 

Harry considered his answer. It was kind of Malfoy not to lie to him and tell him it was all easier from here on out. The honesty of the first half of his answer made Harry feel like he could believe the second half. His mind quieted at that, and Harry let himself relax down against the soft mattress. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to handle things outside of this forest. What if I can’t go back to my old life at all?” Harry voiced the thought that had been haunting him for some time now, but he hadn’t wanted to engage with.

“You will make the changes you need to make, you’ll adjust your life so it fits you, not the other way around. You don’t need to do anything, Potter. You don’t need to prove anything and you don’t owe anything to anyone. Don’t you think it’s about time you started putting your own happiness first?” 

“Mmm.” Harry groaned, really not liking the idea of having to do all of that, on his own, back in the real world. 

“Oh, stop worrying for now, I’m not handing you over to the wolves just yet.” Malfoy said, his voice oddly protective and caring. Harry smiled, despite himself. It felt nice to be the one taken care of, for once, and he was thankful he could tell Malfoy these things. That they could be honest with one another.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, letting his mind just focus on the slow circles that Malfoy formed against the space between his shoulders. The tightness that had followed him all day was leaving, and being slowly replaced by a thick sense of exhaustion. It wasn’t long before he had drifted off to sleep altogether.


	11. The Trouble with Intimacy

The Trouble with Intimacy  
July 11th, 2008

Draco slowly swam into wakefulness with the familiar brassy sounds of jays calling outside the cottage. The sun had barely begun to rise and he was feeling deliciously warm and contented in his soft bed wrapped in blankets and … oh. Wrapped in unfamiliar limbs. Harry’s limbs. Oh, shit. Right. There was a person in his bed. Oh dear. The sudden realization that there was a body in his bed and that he had a particular morning situation in his pants crashed over him like a bucket of ice water. Now what?! 

Draco was fueled with a desire to get away as fast as humanly possible. Surely, he was overreacting? It was normal to have morning wood? It was a normal response to existing with a penis? It had nothing to do with another person being in his bed, right? It certainly had nothing to do with who was in his bed. Right?! 

Draco drew a shaky breath and slowly began to extricate himself from Harry’s octopus sprawl across him. Oh dear god, Potter was so close and so warm. Sweet Circe’s sagging tits, deliver him from this awkward nightmare. He didn’t know what was more horrifying, that they were laying in bed together and Draco had a hard on, or the fact that part of his brain found this rather intriguing. No! he screamed in his head. RUN. Before Harry wakes up and the world ends. 

Draco was peeling back the comforter and stepping over Potter as he began to stir. 

“Hmph.” Harry muttered. Draco didn’t respond. Just extricated the last of his limbs and turned away from the bed. He was deciding if he would go change in the bathroom and pretend none of this ever happened or if he would cave to the overwhelming desire to dash to the door and run as fast as he could. 

“Malfoy?” Potter muttered as he stirred sleepily under the blanket. 

Nope. Draco couldn’t do this. Fuck this. Without even grabbing his shoes, he moved swiftly to the door. 

“Malfoy? Where are you going?” He heard Harry’s soft and sleepy voice laced with confusion. 

He didn’t answer, and as soon as he was clear of the door he ran flat out for the forest. And wasnt that just a sight? Striped drawstring pajama bottoms and thin grey nightshirt be damned. 

This wasn’t the leadened numb buzzing of a panic attack, weighing him down. No, this was somehow worse. This was adrenaline pulsing through his body as it spurred him faster and faster, and it wasn’t long until he was flat out sprinting. He heard the angry bees in his ears but it was as if his frantically thumping heart were urging him to outrun them. All he could think as he ran and ran was “whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck” over and over and over again. 

His bare feet were pounding the packed earth of the path and he didn’t even notice it when a sharp stick stabbed into the soft flesh of his arch as he hurtled away from the cottage as if he were outrunning fiendfyre. 

After what felt like an eternity, or maybe it was only 20 minutes, Draco finally succumbed to his body’s limitation for panicked running and collapsed at the base of an impressive oak. His body was racked with shuddering breaths as he tried desperately to draw more oxygen to his lungs. What the fuck had that been about? 

Last night Harry had been so vulnerable, and it had felt easy for Draco to offer comfort to him by allowing him space in his bed. He felt in control of that interaction. Offering comfort and holding Potter. But, then he had to go and fall asleep like an idiot and woke up being held, and suddenly he had become the one feeling open, and exposed. And trapped. He was the one who was being held. He was the one with his guard down. 

God, that had been so stupid. Draco had this consuming, irrational fear that if Harry had woken up before him and noticed his erection that he would have turned into some sex crazed demon and forced himself on Draco. The thought made his skin burn and his lungs desperate for air. For space. For escape. Draco tried to rationalize with himself that, no, not everyone is a creepy rapist with boundary issues, but it didn’t stem the rise of panic he had felt. 

Draco’s breathing began to even out and he buried his face in his hands and berated himself. What the fuck? He had had a genuine moment of vulnerability and connectedness with another human, and instead of easing into it, he fucking ran. Literally. He literally ran away. Into a forest. To avoid being in an intimate situation. How was he ever going to go back to the cottage and face Harry now? That had been so fucking embarrassing. It’s not as if that situation had even been inherently sexual. If he had stayed and not been a complete berk, Harry probably would have woken up, rolled away and not even noticed, and they could have had a perfectly normal morning. 

Apparently fucking not. He looked up to see two thestrals walking towards him, and noticed the cut on his foot bleeding pretty badly. The smell probably drew them, but then again, they seemed to follow him anyways. 

“Good morning.” Draco sighed and said politely. He really did enjoy their company. “I’m sorry there’s no food, just my foot bleeding.” He indicated to his foot. 

He resumed his self deprecating thoughts as the thestrals lazily wandered around him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the large tree and tried to think of how to rectify this situation. He could just apologize for being weird and hope Harry didn’t ask any further questions? Not likely. He ran away in his pajamas without shoes. There would be questions. And he didn’t want Harry to think it was because of his need to be comforted, no, Draco didn’t want him to feel bad or think that this was in some way his fault. 

Fuck. How do you explain to someone that you simultaneously crave the kind of interaction they had last night and find it fucking terrifying enough to run screaming into the distance? Draco thought back to what it felt like to have someone in his arms, to have that casually intimate contact. There had been no expectations, no ulterior motives, no pressure. It had felt so nice. 

And now, Draco felt like a fucking idiot because he probably put an axe in that ever happening again. He sat, utterly wobegon, with his elbows on his knees and the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes feeling completely exasperated with his behavior. He didn’t even want to let his mind bring up the fact that he had had what one might call an obsessive crush on Harry in school. He really didn’t want to allow that to bleed into their tenuous friendship, or complicate his intimacy issues. 

He startled at something cold on his foot. He opened his eyes to see the smaller of the two thestrals licking his cut. “Hey!” he protested, but when he pulled his foot back to examine the wound he was dumbfounded to see it knitting itself together. The thestral didn’t seem to mind Draco’s outburst and quietly turned away to walk towards its friend. 

Draco sat and marveled at what had just happened. The simple act nearly entirely eclipsed his reason for being in the forest in the first place. He would have to go read the stack of thestral books and test the blood he had collected, yet forgotten in the excitement of the unicorn sample he had collected, immediately. 

Just as he decided to get up and begin his walk back, he saw three more thestrals walk through the trees, followed by a furrow-browed Potter. Shit, Draco thought. He wasn’t ready for whatever discussion they were about to have. He didn’t feel ready to trade anymore secrets just yet. There was a flicker of relief on Harry’s face as he spotted Draco and walked over to him, swinging a bag off his shoulder at Draco’s feet, and sliding down to sit next to him. 

“I brought your shoes.” He said. 

Draco sighed heavily, trying not to feel embarrassed. “Thank you.”

They were quiet while Draco opened the bag and put on his well worn loafers. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, a note of shame in his voice. 

Draco turned his head quickly towards him. “Potter, I want to be clear that what happened last night in no way made me uncomfortable.” His own discomfort evaporating in the face of Harry’s discomposure. “This morning was - I panicked.” he said, feeling stupid. Obviously he had panicked. 

Harry chuckled softly. “Did you? I hadn’t noticed.”

Draco smiled a little. “Do shut up, Potter, this really can’t be any worse than it already is.” Potter grinned and huffed a laugh in response, and then Draco was also smiling. And soon they were both laughing hysterically, falling over sideways at the base of the tree. All the terror Draco had felt seemed to wash away between the two of them, surrendering to how needy and broken and ill-equipped they both were to deal with anything. 

They laughed for a long time. Each time they thought they were reigning themselves in, they would look at one another and burst out in another fit of hilarity. It felt light and Draco felt the anxiety of the morning start to bleed away. When they finally calmed themselves down, Draco’s face hurt from smiling so hard and his stomach ached with the effort. He hadn’t seen Harry’s face look so young and carefree since school and he was flooded with memories of that easy, smiling face. 

Harry must have noticed the change of expression on Draco’s features, because he asked with a cocked head, “What, Malfoy? What now? What’s with the face?” 

Draco tried to school his features into something more neutral, but didn’t think he was accomplishing it after the rollercoaster of events of the last 12 hours. “Just thinking about how fucking ridiculous this situation is.”

“Which situation?” He chuckled, “The one where you’re living with your old school rival, or the one where you fled into the forest from said rival after too much snuggling?”

Draco rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh or grimace. “Both, obviously.” He said, trying desperately to comport himself in a more fitting manner. “And I thought we established that we weren’t rivals anymore?”

“True.” Harry said, smiling with a look of concentration on his face. “I don’t think we were really rivals in school, either. I think I was just a bit obsessed with you, really. You drove me mad.” Harry’s features softened as he watched a pair of jays hopping through the branches of the nearest tree. They were goading each other, as Harry and Draco once had, their screeches just as shrill and desirous of the other’s attention. 

“I think that’s actually the quintessential definition of school rivals, Potter.” Draco said, managing a smirk. “I, too, had an unhealthy interest in your comings and goings.” The admission didn’t feel scary in the light of all the laughing they’d been doing. 

Harry considered this, the jays moving off to fight over the next bit of forest territory. “Did you know I had a map of Hogwarts that showed me where anyone was in the school at any given time?”

Draco just grunted in disbelief. “I don’t know how to respond to that information. You had all three hallows and now you’re telling me you had a fucking magical map to help you sneak around school? What else did you have?!”

“An inability to listen to authority figures?” Harry laughed. 

“Oh my god.” Draco sighed. “Go on, tell me about your magical stalker map then.” he gestured with a dramatic flourish.

“Well,” Harry said, with a slow blush creeping up his neck, “I spent most nights looking at that map trying to figure out what you were up to. Drove Ron and Hermione spare, to tell you the truth.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief. “I spent most of my Hogwarts days trying to get your attention and get under your skin, and here I find you spent the whole time stalking me.”

“You were trying to get my attention?” Harry asked with a half smile, he looked back at Draco with one eyebrow raised under his impossible nest of hair. 

“Wasn’t it obvious? We spent six years screaming at each other from across the great hall, Potter. There were two tables between us, and we still managed to heckle one another.”

“Yeah, I guess we were both pretty ridiculous.” Harry admitted. “You were pretty dramatic.”

Feigning outrage Draco scoffed, “Me? Dramatic? I don’t really have a counter argument for that, but fuck you anyways.” He said, dramatically. 

“Ron was convinced it was because you fancied me, but you were such a git I never believed him.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to blush, which was so much more obvious on his pale skin. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “After much distance and self reflection over the years, I can see now that my behavior was probably driven more by teenage hormones than anything.”

“Oh my god, you were pulling my pigtails, you prat.” Harry laughed at the realization. 

“Well that’s an odd mental image.” Draco grimaced with a huff. 

Harry shoved him over, “You know what I mean.” he jested. This conversation was getting out of hand. 

Harry shook his head in disbelief at him and, after a moment of silence, said. “So, about this morning?”

Draco sagged. Back to this. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Harry offered softly. “But if it’s something I can prevent from happening in the future, I’d like to know.”

Use your words Draco. Beatrice had given him the vocabulary to discuss these things. Be an adult. Be honest. 

“I panicked this morning because…” This was going to be harder than he thought, he decided as he fished for the words. “… because I was afraid of being out of control and I was afraid of the intimacy of the situation.”

“The intimacy?” Harry asked.

“You know, being close to someone, physically. It’s not something I do - not since the war.” He felt his face flush and knew he must be hot pink. 

“Oh.” Harry said. He seemed stunned by the admission. “Well, I won’t push that on you again, if it upsets you.” he sounded remorseful, and he scooted sideways a bit to make sure he wasn’t crowding him too much, now. They had leaned quite close to one another as the conversation wore on. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Draco snapped, felt frustrated with himself. “I found last night comforting... for me as well.” he felt his face getting warm again. “It was nice, really nice actually.” He said softly, decidedly not looking at Harry who was very still beside him. “It’s just, when I woke up this morning, I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I had this fear that you would use it against me if you woke up before I removed myself from the situation.” Draco held up his hand to stem the protest forming in Harry’s mouth. 

“I know, Potter, I know you wouldn’t have done anything untoward, and I know it’s completely irrational, but I haven’t been able to work through these things yet. It has nothing to do with you, honestly. Just me and all my baggage.”

Harry considered this a moment. “I understand. I have baggage, too.” He paused, then finished his thought. “I mean, I only think I needed the closeness last night because I was scared too… Just, I was afraid of me.” He sighed heavily. 

“I know.” Draco said, almost whispering. 

“So, I propose that next time you feel the need to run into the forest, literally” he smirked at Draco, who rolled his eyes, “that you just talk to me about it. You’ve done that much for me. And honestly, last night helped me so much. I haven’t felt that stable in a long time.”

Draco looked up to search his face for misgivings, and found nothing but earnest sincerity there. 

He sighed and rubbed his face hard with his hands before running his fingers through his hair, trying to organize his thoughts. 

“I’ve never slept next to someone like that before.” Harry admitted quietly, almost timidly. 

Draco stilled at the admission. He had always thought he was a bit of an outlier, having never spent the night in someone’s bed with whom he had chosen to do so. Opening his bed up to Harry last night had been a huge deal for him, but apparently it had been just as big of a deal to Harry as well. 

“Me either.” Draco finally replied. 

Harry looked surprised. “You seemed so confident.”

Draco shrugged. “It seemed like the most logical thing to do.”

“Thank you, it really did help. I was shocked, actually, at how well it worked.”

“It’s not a problem, like I said, it was nice for me too.” Draco flushed again, feeling stupid. “It’s just the aftermath was difficult to face, apparently.”

“So, I could ask for that again... if I’m struggling?” He clarified. 

“Yes, Potter, I actually insist.” He breathed out heavily. “Just please don’t be offended if I scarper again.”

“Don’t worry. Now that I know you spook easily, I’ll be more prepared for it.” He gave Draco a hesitant smile. 

“How did you find me?” Draco asked. 

“Oh, well, I just followed the thestrals, actually.” he said, looking pensive again. “They really are interesting creatures aren’t they?”

“Yes they are.” he said getting to his feet and turning to help Harry up. “And I actually need to get to my books, because I have a lot of questions about them.”

“What kind of questions?” Harry cocked his head in curiosity. 

“Like how and why they keep healing me when I’m injured.” Draco said. “Come Potter, let’s get back, I’m starving.”

“You know, you were the one who ran out without breakfast, Malfoy.” Harry said with exasperation and something that sounded like affection in his voice. 

Draco tried to regain his composure as if this was all a routine morning and march them back to the cottage to indulge in a full English before beginning his research. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that Harry had sought him out, and that he didn’t pressure him to explain why he was the way he was. Who would have thought Harry sodding Potter would be helping him unpack his baggage. 

_______________  
July 31, 2008

When Draco asked what Harry wanted to do for his birthday, he explicitly said he didn’t want to do anything. He had told him that he never enjoyed his birthdays, nor did he every make a fuss and he didn’t intend to start now. Then he paused and looked inquisitively at Draco and asked, “How did you know when my birthday was?”

He felt himself flush before answering in a disparaging tone, “Everyone knows when your birthday is, you’re Harry fucking Potter. I’m surprised it’s not a national holiday, to be honest.” 

Harry seemed satisfied with this answer, and they didn’t mention Harry’s birthday again. But while Harry was out, working in the garden, Draco surreptitiously made a cupcake in Harry’s favorite chipped mug. After decorating it with a lion and a serpent wearing party hats, he stuck a single candle in it and left it near the kettle for Harry to find.


	12. The Quintessence of Debauchery

The Quintessence of Debauchery  
August 09, 2008

“Pockenello’s body upon a central low table was a glorious sight to behold - his arms tied behind him, a silken sash over his eyes, naked and spread, his ass raised high in the air for all to see. He was to be defiled by Bulloxinion forthwith, king of the land and notorious for his adamant proclivity for male flesh. The onlookers were reddened, ladies fanning themselves with abandon. Pockenello’s cock was hard and jutted out before him, his ass prepared by Borastus’s tongue.”

Harry paused, his face turning pink, his brow creased at the pages before him. 

“Why’d you stop, you’re just getting to the good part it sounds like.” Draco said, laughing at Harry’s flustered expression. 

“Hell, I had no idea muggles wrote such excellently graphic smut back in the day. This book is from the 1600s, Malfoy. And muggles were notoriously touchy about homosexuality - this is a right shock.” 

Draco snorted, rolling his eyes and laying back against the edge of the garden bed he had been weeding. Reaching up to pluck one of the recently regrown broad beans and snacking on it idly. 

“Go on then, I want to hear what happens.” He said, though he sounded more interested in Harry’s reaction than the abject depravity of the ancient story. 

It was hot and pleasant in the sunny little garden, and Harry had tempted them both into a lunch time open air reading - he had found a stash of horribly old books in the bottom of the cupboard he had found the seeds in, half hidden by stone slabs, and it had turned out to be a wonderfully erotic gay porn cache from centuries ago. There were quite a few wizarding books, though they were in french, and Harry hadn’t been able to keep his composure with all of the moving illustrations, so he had settled on something that had looked less intimidating by comparison. The Quintessence of Debauchery, it turned out, was anything but. 

Harry cleared his throat, obviously overcome with embarrassment for having chosen something so explicit to read aloud, but too far in to his performance to back out now. 

“And so Bulloxinion sauntered to him, stroking his own impressive member to erection, his tendency to exhibitionism and the whispered fawning of the crowd goading his cock to thicken with blood. He positioned himself behind Pockenello’s raised and loosened hole and thrusted in without prelude, the silken embrace of his lover eliciting a cry from deep within him. The slickened sounds of their seditious thrusting gave way to punctuation with the eager and ravenous pleading of Pockenello, whose member leaked and twitched with the agonising pleasure of Bulloxinion’s deft assault of his prostate.”

Harry stopped reading. His face flushed crimson. He was holding the book aloft still, but no longer focused to the words on the page, a smile spreading across his face. He looked both startled and uproariously happy. He started laughing, finally dropping the book, tilting his head back up and giving way to an absolutely carefree bout of giggling. 

Draco sat up and regarded him, “What’s wrong Potter, think it’s hilarious the way gay men get each other off?” His eyebrow was raised and he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive. It was a hilariously odd tale, it was a bit funny, but something about the idea of Potter laughing at it made him incredibly uncomfortable. 

Harry, still red in the face and looking beautifully surprised looked over at him. “No, you twit, I’m laughing because I got hard.” His grin was lopsided and easy, his posture relaxed and his admission was as though it was simple as saying the time of day. 

Draco’s mouth fell open for a split second before he reined himself in as he clearly attempted to process the words that had just come out of Harry’s mouth. 

Before he had time to form a reply, Harry had sat down across from him, leaning back against the opposite bed. “It just hasn’t happened in a long time.” He said, shrugging, the embarrassment only catching up to him now, as if he had forgotten that this wasn’t something that friends discussed often. 

Harry wrinkled his nose and laughed away the nerves, committing to the discussion. “I was using and I never wanted sex. I never thought about it, I never had any desires, nothing. It’s been … months and months at least, before I even got here. It’s like that whole part of me was numbed and I didn’t even notice.” He paused, his eyes closed and his head tilted back, soaking in the afternoon sunlight that dappled their little garden. “And then this story goes and gets me hard like I’m still a teenager reading a naughty scene in a racy book. I had forgotten, almost, what it was like. I had forgotten about sex and wanting someone.” 

Draco watched him make his confession, his lips still parted, halfway to a word, but it was as if he could think of nothing to say. Draco was watching Harry and the exposed stretch of his neck and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. 

Harry eventually scrubbed his face, sighed and looked back over at him, smiling shyly. “Sorry, if that was weird. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“It’s fine, it’s not like it’s not something we discuss as Healers, you know. You’re not the first person who’s struggled with lack of desire.” Draco was resorting to putting this in the context of work to keep the distance between them safe, and comfortable, and not too intimate. Harry watched him, and noted the change in his demeanor. 

“It’s not just lack of desire.” Harry went on, knowing he’d have to give something more for Malfoy to be coaxed into feeling safe and comfortable and not professionally distant - he didn’t tell him to tell Healer Malfoy, he wanted to tell him as a friend. 

“I couldn’t even stay hard to have sex with Ginny. It was a nightmare. A disastrous fucking nightmare. It’s why we never worked out together.” Harry admitted, his embarrassment deepening and the shame running across his skin making him feel prickly and uncomfortable, but needing to share all the same. 

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never had an orgasm while having sex with someone?” Draco asked, an eyebrow raised and his curiosity clearly getting the better of him, apparently completely taken aback that Harry Potter, of all people, would struggle with something so fundamental as sex. 

Harry scowled. “Once.” He said, tearing up a leaf between his now fidgeting fingers. “I tried cocaine and slept with a prostitute. That’s the only time I’ve ever managed to finish.” He was angry now, and Draco breathed out loudly.

“I knew I was gay in 5th year already.” Draco offered, trying to mimic the ease with which Harry had given his secrets up. “My parents disagreed. So they tried to set me up with a nice pureblood girl and force us to have sex so I could just … I don’t know… change my mind - or to prove to me that I could just marry a woman to sire an heir and keep my own devious nature to myself, I suppose.” 

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Harry said, his eyebrows far up in his messy hair, his scar creased and hidden. “What happened?” 

“I took a whole bunch of potions and drank myself into a near stupor and by the end of it we were both crying. Needless to say, just another reason for Lucius to be disappointed in his son, I suppose.” Draco finished, his voice getting more and more acidic in tone. 

“He’s an idiot for not loving you as you are. Children aren’t made to be the instruments of their parent’s dreams. They’re made to be loved and cared for.” Harry said, his tone resolute, but his features soft. 

Draco nodded, sighing away the tension of the memory, then his smile falling abruptly. “But, you know Potter, at least you’ve had consensual sex. Aside from that one time bullied in to it by my parents, of all people, I can’t say the same.” 

Harry watched as the absolute heartbreaking reality of what he had said fell over the both of them. The sun shifted behind a stray cloud and the shadow cast a chill over the two men, as if to remind them of just how cold the world could be - how unkind and unforgiving. 

Harry could see the gooseflesh forming on Draco’s bare arms and the tears collecting in his bright grey eyes, and it hurt him so sharply to see him fold under the weight of those horrific memories. He wanted so badly to reach across the little garden path and envelop him in a hug and hold him and tell him it was going to be okay and that he deserved love and kindness and gentleness. He deserved to be safe and respected, and deserved pleasure, real pleasure. He deserved it all. 

But he held fast, for he didn’t want to scare him, he didn’t want to invalidate his control of his space, he didn’t want to be part of the endless roll of people who had taken pieces of him for themselves and given him nothing but terror and pain, and memories that piled up like stones. 

Harry felt his magic pool around his hands softly, a gentle tingling reminder that it was there. It felt calm and collected in the face of his reeling thoughts and the anger and outrage he felt toward the injustices of the past. He raised one hand softly and thought of how he wanted to show Malfoy he cared, a warming charm lifting the chill in the air ever so slightly. 

Draco lifted his head and looked over at Harry, his arms crossed over his chest, but the gooseflesh disappearing in the gentle warmth of the spell. 

“Your wand is inside.” He said, his brow creased and his cheeks ruddy and splotchy. 

“Mm” Harry replied, not having realized himself that he didn’t have it on him. “But, you were cold.” 

Draco stared at him, wiping his cheeks. “Your magic is different.” He said, finally.

He seemed unsure how else to phrase it, and Harry could understand why - the shock that he could even do wandless magic himself was making him feel a little out of his depth as it was.

“So am I,” said Harry, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Malfoy. “Come on inside, I’ll make us tea.” 

Draco reached up and took his offered grasp, Harry’s magic curling and twining itself around Malfoy’s graceful fingers. He was no longer the raging wildfire, but a warmth that burned like embers. 

______________________  
August 17, 2008

It had been hours of Malfoy pouring over potions, muttering to himself, making notes, scratching them out and rewriting them in his tiny scrawl, the kitchen table overflowing with books and recipes and charts and scraps of parchment in various languages. Draco had broken in to excited french at some point, having been immersed in a francophone text from Haiti via France for several hours, which had been nothing short of charmingly adorable. Harry had laughed and made him another cup of tea, occasionally reminding him to eat something and shoving peanut butter and jam sandwiches his way, which Malfoy occasionally nibbled on.

Harry had tried to help, but he’d ended up in the way more often than anything, and by the early evening, he had given up and dragged the bearskin rug outside to the meadow on the southern side of Tenebris Hollow. He was happy there were breakthroughs on the Thestral front, but his desire to be supportive seemed to be getting in the way of actually being supportive. 

He dropped it down amongst the carpet of wildflowers, some of the tiny glowing blue beetles buzzing away from the skin as Harry shook it out and stretched it flat to lay upon. He smiled and watched the little insects zipping off into the dusky evening, finding new homes amongst the closing flower buds. 

It had been achingly hot during the day, and Harry was thankful the sun was dipping below the forest on the mountainous horizon, the temperature dropping to a comfortable chill. Evening birdsong carried across the clearing and bats occasionally flitted around the open sky between the trees, finding their way with their own inaudible trills. 

Harry lay back on the familiar skin, cushioned perfectly on the plush greenery beneath him, his hands resting comfortably behind his head, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, his bare feet finally accustomed to the rough terrain of the hollow. 

His hair was long enough to tie back in a bun on top of his head with a stolen bit of Malfoy’s white yarn, and his face had filled out with a solid layer of scruffy stubble. He had tried to keep it shaved and neat in the second or third month, but by now he was happy to let it grow and not to worry so much. Malfoy had chastised him a bit about it, but Harry was ok with it for now, it felt more him, and it had been so long since he had explored what that really meant. 

He watched the sky fade and the stars come out, slowly at first, and then all at once. With no moon, the darkness was thick and viscous, and Harry let it pool around him, his magic keeping him warm and gently running along the tips of his fingers and up his arms, now thick with muscle from life in the Hollow. 

It was true what Malfoy had said. His magic felt different. It was calm for him, and quieter, but it felt even more powerful. He relished the new control he was developing - it was as if he was relearning all of the spells he had always known, but with more finesse, more innate and intuitive knowledge of how his magic would respond. It was strange at first, that he had started to prefer wandless magic, but the more he worked with it, the more it felt natural. 

He felt more in tune with what he wanted, what he was feeling, and it was as though his magic was a conduit for him to access that, as though his very flesh and bone were the core and his mind the wand. He felt powerful, but without the anxiety of being out of control, as if he was reaching in to a deep well within himself. It felt good. He felt good. 

The clouds that had gathered cleared and the stars shone out from the depths of the firmament, scattered across the sky, and Harry scanned the constellations he recalled from his Hogwarts days, the milky way stretching between the various characters. He wasn’t sure if it held any meaning, but it was beautiful in its immensity. And, for perhaps the first time in his life, he lay back and drank in the absolute vastness of the night sky. 

“Mars is bright tonight” came Malfoy’s familiar voice, and Harry smiled, patting the rug next to him, thinking back on the centaur who had first warned him of the fiery planet’s red hue. 

“There are no wars left to be fought, not for me, anyway. Mars is bright for someone else’s battles.” Harry said, watching Malfoy sink onto the skin next to him, his blonde hair and pale skin making him just barely brighter than the stars above. 

Harry knew he was smiling, and he could feel it radiating from him. 

“I’m more interested in these two figures on the horizon, as far South as you can see.” Harry pointed just above the tops of the trees, tracing the figures with his outstretched hand, his magic producing a beautiful silver glow for one and a glorious gold for the other. 

Draco laughed as the figures he traced took the forms of a little Welsh Green and a miniature Lion. They regarded one another, the Lion roaring regally while the little dragon huffed tiny jets of flame from it’s haughty nose, whipping its tail from side to side in imagined indignation. 

“You found my constellation.” Draco said shyly, looking over at Harry’s cheeky grin, illuminated in the light cast by his anthropomorphic charms. 

“Did you know we are next to each other in the sky?” Harry asked, turning his brilliant smile to Draco. “I’m just above you, just so you know.” He turned back to watch the lion and his companion fade from the sky, their respective stars burning brightly in their places. 

Draco nodded and smiled back.

“Why did they name you Draco?” Harry asked softly, Draco laying back next to him to look up at the rest of the night sky. 

“My mother chose it. It’s a tradition in the House of Black, to be named after a constellation. She wanted something powerful for me, her only son, something that would connote fear and respect, and, above all, power. I’m not sure I could have ever lived up to it, but, in the end, I’m not sure she wanted me to.” Draco answered, his hand resting next to Harry’s, the warmth of his magic snaking around his fingers and up his arm, tethering them, and Draco’s own magic letting it. 

Draco pointed up in the sky behind them, North of the dragon and lion, and said, “Andromeda and Bellatrix are this side. There’s Sirius and Regulus, the last of the brothers Black, also named for stars. Regulus’s star is within your constellation, the Lion, and Sirius, by all irony, the Dog. My mother was the only one to be named for a flower, and maybe she was trying to make sure I didn’t forget I am just as much a Black as a Malfoy when she gave me my name.” 

Harry followed Draco’s outstretched hand from his lion to canis major, and saw the legendary brightness of the dog star, his heart straining with the longing for his godfather. His eyes reflexively burned with tears at the thought that all these years he’d had a star and Harry had never thought to look to it. 

Draco must have sensed his mood change, and he stayed quiet. He seemed unsure about having brought attention to his second cousin’s mark upon the heavens. 

“He was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father.” Harry said, finally, his voice hoarse and quiet in the night air. “I loved him, really. And I’m the reason he died.” 

“Are you really going to take responsibility for something my deranged aunt did? You were fifteen.” Draco said, not unkindly. 

“It’s more complicated than that.” Harry said, clearly still hanging on to the guilt. 

“You’re right.” Draco started, carefully. “It is more complicated than that. But to say you’re wholly responsible for Sirius’ death, in an adult’s war, one you fought and won as a child, is taking a lot on.”

“Don’t you ever feel guilty?” Harry asked, turning his face to Draco, regarding him with nothing but the desire to see his own haunting reflected in someone else. To see he wasn’t alone in the weight he carried from the war. 

“Constantly.” Draco said quietly. 

“We were on opposite sides and even still, neither of us can escape the feeling that we did so much wrong. That we should have known better. It’s not very fair.” Harry said, watching Draco’s reaction to his words, wanting him to not feel judged, just understood. 

 

“I worry that Sirius would be ashamed of me.” Harry said, the words feeling heavy in the stillness of the evening. 

“What did you mean in your note when you said you had talked it over with him?” Draco asked, the question seemed curious and cautious at the same time. 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to tell Malfoy everything about that night, but they had come this far together. 

“I was hallucinating. Sirius. And Regulus. They were the only people I could talk to about wanting to die. Sirius wanted me to live. And Regulus… well, he wanted me to know it was okay if I chose otherwise.” 

“Why Regulus?” Draco asked, “I didn’t think you ever knew him? He died before we were born.” 

Harry paused, realising for the first time that perhaps the Malfoys had never heard the truth about his death - thinking rather that he had remained a loyal Death Eater until the end. He opened his eyes and found Regulus’s star in the sky, just a shade softer than the ferocity of his brother’s, deep within the lion. Perhaps he had, like him, argued with the sorting hat to be placed where he thought he needed to be, afraid of following his older brother to Gryffindor.

“He killed himself to help stop Voldemort.” Harry said, not wanting to dishonor his memory with anything but the honest truth, no matter how cruel. 

“He gave it all up, in the end. The pureblood mania, the nonsense of it all, it caught up to him. He couldn’t watch people die. But, he didn’t feel like he could escape. He had no one to turn to, so he conspired with a house elf and gave up his life so that others may live.” Harry said finally, turning until his gaze met Draco’s, both of them facing each other. 

“The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters.” Draco said, mirroring the sentiment that Harry had all those months ago on the staircase of Grimmauld Place outside Regulus’s door. 

Harry stretched his fingers out across the bearskin they lay on, just enough to lace them in Draco’s. 

“I know.” Harry whispered, his gaze holding steady, watching Draco’s face for any sign that this small gesture was too much, too close. But in Draco’s eyes he saw nothing but the placid pale grey and understanding. Harry silently wondered if Draco had known what Regulus had done, if he wouldn’t have felt so alone. So trapped. So incapable of asking for help. Incapable of believing that you could stand against Voldemort, Death Eater or not. Perhaps, he would have believed there could be redemption. 

They lay side by side, hands entwined, silently holding tight to what they had forged together, beneath the stars.


	13. Night Terrors

Night Terrors  
August 30, 2008 

Draco was running. He was zigzagging through the corridors of his childhood, fear licking his insides, looking for a place to disappear. The manor had so many places to hide, but, unfortunately for him, these secluded alcoves and rooms often already had a lurking occupant, with greedy hands and forceful aims. So he ran, trying to keep his footsteps quiet and his breathing even so he wouldn’t be discovered. 

He needed to find somewhere safe. He needed to hurry. He could hear footsteps following him, a deep laugh ringing out and echoing around the cold marble of the halls. Before he could turn another corner, he felt a solid mass slam into him, hot breath on the back of his neck as he was cornered in a niche in the wall, the moment of impact in slow motion, prolonged and emphatic in it’s goal - to make Draco feel powerless. 

He felt sharp fingers pushing his face into the cold marble wall before sliding up and gripping tight to his white blonde hair, and a hard and unwelcomed cock insistent against his ass as he tried with everything he had to fight back against his attacker, another hand raking its way along his back beneath his clothing, pulling his trousers down and ripping them at the seams. He could smell the firewhiskey on his breath, hot and unrelenting just behind his ear. He could hear him whispering in that marbled low voice of all the terrifying things he was about to do. Lestrange had loved to call him pet names, and his subconscious dragged them all out in the dream, each word rolling off Lestrange’s tongue and coiling like acid deep within his gut, slicing him open. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I like it when you scream,” was punctuated with Lestrange’s tongue licking the patch behind his ear.

But, his arms moved as if in molasses, and when he opened his mouth to scream, nothing came out. The thrill of panic exploded in his chest as he was wrenched from the alcove by a familiar and concerned sounding voice. 

“…Malfoy. It’s okay Malfoy, it’s just a dream. Wake up.”

Draco hadn’t realized he was screaming until he was out of breath. He was covered in sweat and his hair and clothing clung to his damp skin. He was shaking as Harry whispered soothing things he couldn’t understand. His eyes darted wildly around the room, taking in the details as if he was bidden to memorize them. He was in the cottage. He wasn’t at the manor. He was with Potter, not Lestrange. He was safe. He was okay. He realized he had a vice grip on Harry’s shoulder, perhaps to steady himself, to anchor him to reality, or to keep him away. He wasn’t sure, but the realization filled him with embarrassment and he let go quickly, rubbing his eyes as if to clean away the images of his dream from his mind.

Harry just sat there on his heels at Draco’s side, watching him carefully, keeping his hands to himself. Finally, Draco got up shakily and pushed past Harry and stumbled to the loo where he promptly vomited, the smell of firewhiskey still clinging in his nose, crisp and smokey and stale as all the days and nights he had felt drowned in it on their breath. 

He could hear Harry moving around the kitchen and boiling the kettle. Draco hadn’t had a nightmare that visceral in a long time. It had been years since he’d thrown up from one. He felt fevered and filled with a sense that his grip on reality was shaky, tenuous at best. He kept feeling his face and stretching his hands out in front of him to try and ascertain whether or not he existed. Whether or not he had a body or if he was just an amorphous blob of bad memories and adrenalin. Whether or not this was real, or if he had simply dissociated here while his real self lay battered and bloodied by Lestrange’s sadistic needs. 

After what seemed like hours, although it was probably only ten minutes, he hauled himself off of the bathroom floor and washed his face. He was still shaking. He felt wracked with cold and a fear that just wouldn’t dissipate. He didn’t want to face Harry, but the thought of being alone in this wash closet for one more second might make him puke again. He wanted Harry’s comfort, his presence, his solid calm and easy voice. The confirmation that his safety wasn’t a grand delusion - that this was real. Their cabin, in Tenebris Hollow, was real. 

He came back out of the bathroom and saw that Harry had lit a candle on the bedside table and sat on Draco’s bed with a cup of tea. The sight of him sitting there, so comfortable and patiently waiting, sent a shock of affection and gratitude through him so strong he felt he might burst into tears. Crossing the room he noticed the faint and fresh smell of his encourage-mint lingering in the air - Harry must of rubbed their leaves for Draco. The thought made his heart feel tight in his chest.

Shuffling over to the bed, shivering with fear or cold, he couldn’t tell, he gratefully accepted Harry’s proffered tea and sank down onto the mattress beside him with a shuddering sigh. 

He spent a few minutes trying to even his breathing while Harry just sat there in comfortable silence. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked quietly. 

When Draco didn’t answer, Harry continued. “It seemed worse than the other ones you’ve had while we’ve been here.”

“It was.” Draco said, his voice was scratchy and hoarse from screaming.

Harry nodded. He moved his hand in a weird way as if he wanted to reach out and touch Draco but thought better of it and restrained himself. Draco suddenly realized that he really, really wanted that comfort right now. That if he didn’t have someone to anchor him to this reality, he might float off into space or get sucked into a vortex that would take him back to the manor with Lestrange. He looked into Harry’s face with pleading eyes, not knowing how to ask for what he needed. 

“... can we…” Draco tried, but couldn’t get the words out. 

“Can we, what?” Harry asked, patiently. 

“I don’t want to run again.” he pushed out, not knowing how else to say it.

Understanding flashed across Harry’s face and he slowly got up from the bed, took Draco’s tea mug from him and placed the two cups on the bedside table. Then, turning back to Draco, he indicated for him to move over. Harry wordlessly crawled under the covers with Draco and wrapped a solid arm over him, pulling him into his chest. He waved his free hand almost imperceptibly and the light of the single candle went out. 

Draco took a huge cleansing breath and blew it out into Harry’s shirt as his shivering started to ease. Harry’s smell drenched his sense and he felt safe.

“Is this okay?” Harry whispered.

“Mm.” Draco managed, and nodded, focusing on his breathing. Trying not to burst into tears. The reality of this soothing gesture fighting with his past experiences for dominance. He could hear Harry’s heart beating, slow and rhythmic, and he counted the beats in sets of 20 to calm himself. 

He didn’t know how long they lay there like that, with Harry gently stroking Draco’s hair, their legs tangled together, and Draco’s hands crumpled under his chin, but eventually the fear began to seep away from him and his trembling ceased. 

“It was Lestrange.” Draco whispered into the darkness. He couldn’t see Harry’s face which was pressed into the top of Draco’s head, but he preferred it that way. Harry’s hand stilled in Draco’s hair for only a fraction of a second at the admission before continuing it’s methodical carding.

“He, he was…” Draco stutterd. Not really sure what words to use to describe that pitiful excuse for a human. 

“A monster?” Harry offered softly. 

“Yes.” Draco said, glad he didn’t have to explain it more fully. 

“I know.” Harry said. “I was the auror on his case over the last few years trying to catch him. It was after I messed up the raid that caught Yaxley and McNair but let him free that I tried heroin for the first time. That very night. I had hurt Seamus Finnigan with uncontrolled magic and I knew the drugs would keep it suppressed.” Harry had a distracted sound to his voice and he paused his hand in Draco’s hair, but eventually he seemed to shake it off and the small tender movements continued, just as before. 

Draco considered this. He didn’t know how to react to that information. Not only the drugs, but he had given up hope on Lestrange ever being brought to justice. “He was…” He tried again. “...he was the one that I had to watch out for. All the others I could fight off, if he wasn’t around. But if he was there, there was no getting out. Him and Greyback.”

Harry responded by giving Draco a gentle squeeze and breathing deeply as if to steady himself. “Is that what your dream was about?” he asked with a forced calm.

Draco nodded. “He use to chase me through the corridors, like it was a game. The dreams are so real sometimes.” He paused. “Please tell me this is real and that we really are in the forbidden forest laying in a bunk bed. Please tell me this isn’t a clever hallucination.” He tried to sound derisively amused but it came out sounding scared and timid. 

Harry huffed a soft, sad laugh. “It’s real, Draco.”

Draco sunk into the space against Harry’s chest. His given name on Harry’s lips felt so safely kept. 

“He’s the reason I can’t even smell firewhiskey without flashbacks anymore.” He said. “That’s how I had a panic attack in front of Neville, he was preparing a tincture in the greenhouses with it and broke a jar and off I went.” After a beat he added, “Please promise me you won’t ever drink it around me.”

“Draco, I’m a recovering drug addict. I promise I won’t be drinking anything around anyone. I’ve just been quietly thankful you never have wine with dinner, even.” Harry said, his tone sure, as if he had spent a lot of time and consideration on the thought.

“Oh.” Draco considered. He’d never thought about that. 

They laid in silence for what felt like another hour before Harry spoke again. “Do you want me to stay down here or go back to my bed?” 

Harry’s consideration made Draco want to cry and vomit at the same time because it was so... nice. He didn’t think he would ever have someone understand him like that. 

“Stay.” He said, and they eventually slipped into an easy sleep.

_______________  
August 31, 2008

The first thing Draco realized when he woke up was that he was alone in his bed. He felt instantly relieved, and maybe a hint disappointed. He felt like he’d been run over by a rampaging dragon and he curled deeper in to his duvet. He could hear shuffling in the kitchen and wondered when Harry had gotten up. Wondered if he had intentionally gotten up early to avoid another forest flight. The thought made him feel a little embarrassed and he shifted uncomfortably. The memory of the night before washing over him, making him feel stupid. He hated giving away his secrets, leaving him feeling vulnerable and useless. But, it had felt so… good? Yes. It had felt good having someone understand him. Having someone ground him, hold him. 

Draco’s shifting out from the pile of covers must have caught Harry’s attention because his soft voice cut across the room. “Malfoy, how do you feel about pancakes?”

Draco smiled. He was grateful he wouldn’t be forced to speak about last night just yet. “By pancakes, do you mean crepes or flapjacks?”

“Uhhhh… I don’t know?” Harry said, sounding bemused. “Small circular cakey things fried in a pan? Covered in syrup and jam? Not the super thin ones.” 

“Flapjacks.” Draco confirmed. “And I have only good feelings about them.” He smiled at Harry as he gathered his clothes and marched off to the loo to change. 

“Well, good.” Harry said to Draco’s back. 

Harry didn’t bring up Draco’s nightmare over breakfast and instead suggested they spend the day hiking to a small pond he had found while exploring the Western woods, one where they could swim as the weather was hot and muggy. 

“C’mon, Malfoy, it’s too hot for you to be cooped up and bent over your cauldron today. It’s too hot to do anything other than be slothful.” He looked like an eager pleading child, so full of joyful anticipation. 

The idea of a hike and a swim sounded amazing actually, but Draco was suddenly filled with apprehension about taking his clothes off. Fuck it, he thought, he would have to start breaking down his walls eventually. 

“Alright.” He said. “Lets pack a lunch.” Harry beamed at him and Draco thought a smile that radiant should be illegal, so he rolled his eyes in return. 

_____________

Harry lead them to the spot by the rowan grove and the stream where they had laid on the boulder after Draco’s forest flight, and then began to pick his way downstream, pausing only to say hello to a playful otter that followed them briefly, cajoling in the stream’s more turbid waters, diving and twirling and making a spectacle of her obvious skill. Harry had laughed and chatted to her, calling her Alice, and Draco had been profoundly taken aback that they had almost seemed old friends. 

The air was thick with moisture and after only twenty minutes outside the cabin, their clothes were stuck to their sweaty skin and their hair damp. “How far are we walking?” Draco asked, trying not to sound exasperated already. 

“It’s not too far.” Harry consoled. “Maybe twenty minutes or so from here.”

“Not so bad.” Draco said, more to himself. “When did you find this place?”

“A few weeks ago, but I didn’t take the time to go swimming then. Thought it would be nice for both of us to go.” He flashed Draco a smile and Draco felt a confusing mixture of pleasure and embarrassment that he didn’t want to think too hard about. 

They walked in comfortable silence, bugs flying up around them as they disturbed the undergrowth of the trees, frogs leaping out of their way, and a few thestrals picking their way after them. Soon, the canopy cover began to thin as the stream let out into a little clearing that nestled a beautiful pond against a rocky outcropping. The stream ran into this pool before continuing its path out the other side and down further into the valley. The far side of the pond was buffeted by rocks and boulders piled high with moss, vines, and water loving flowers growing thick in the crevices. 

“Wow.” Draco confessed. “Impressive.” 

“I thought so.” Harry seemed chuffed with having unearthed such a beautiful place, carefully hidden in the depths of their forest hideaway. 

They found a shaded spot to drop their things, and, without preamble, Harry stripped his sweaty shirt and trousers off, quickly disrobing down to his black pants and running off to the other side of the pond, where he unceremoniously scaled the rocks. After reaching, what Draco thought to be, an unnecessary hight, Harry launched himself off an impressive boulder and hit the water with a fantastic splash. Draco had been so enamored by Harry’s enthusiasm and near nudity, that he hadn’t even taken his own shoes off yet, a dumbfounded smile plastered across his face. 

“What are you doing over there? Watching the trees grow?” Harry shouted at him, laughing, splashing water his direction and swimming out into the middle of the pond. 

“I am in no rush, Potter.” Draco said smiling back, and slowly beginning to disrobe. He felt better about this that Harry was already in the water and wasn’t standing right next to him, and he began peeling his clothes off. Each button exposed him, each centimetre of skin felt like uncovering a dark and terrible secret. He decided against discarding his last layer - his dark mark on display was enough, for now.

“Well, you should be! This is amazing.” He was floating on his back with his eyes closed. 

Draco began walking towards the water’s edge with bare feet in his grey pants and white t-shirt. Oh, the water was so nice and cool, he thought as he began to slowly walk out. The bottom was thankfully sandy instead of murky, and since the water in the pool was technically running, it was relatively clear, save for the tannin tinge from the forest plants. After walking in waist deep, he dove in, ducking his head under the cool relief and swimming a few lazy laps back and forth past Harry, who continued to float idly. 

Draco eventually joined Harry in his aimless floating. After a relaxing beat of silent drifting, Harry asked cautiously, “Can I ask why you’re wearing a shirt while swimming?”

Draco cracked one eye open to glance at Harry, who had a curious look on his face. 

“You don’t have to answer that.” Harry said after Draco didn’t answer, looking a little shy, Draco was sure he could see a pink tinge somewhere on his cheeks, instantly jealous that he could hide a blush so effectively, one that would have turned him a clear and violent scarlet.

“Actually, I kept my shirt on for your benefit, Potter.” Draco eventually answered with feigned nonchalance. 

Harry looked profoundly confused. “My benefit? What, you think I’d find you so blindingly attractive it would ruin my day?” 

Draco snorted. “No you berk. Honestly, how vain do you think I am?” Then he added seriously. “I just don’t want to add another layer to your Gryffindor guilt complex.”

Harry’s look of utter confusion lasted only a few seconds more before it was replaced with a look of pure horror. “Oh my fuck.” He said. “The bathroom.” His eyes went impossibly wide.

Draco stopped floating on his back to properly face Harry while treading water. “Yes.” He said gently. He could tell Harry was searching his face for signs of anger, resentment, or even hatred. “But really though, Potter, I tried to crucio you. We don’t need to rehash this.”

Harry didn’t look mollified, he looked mortified. 

“How bad is it?” He asked, clearly uncertain whether or not he wanted the answer. 

“It’s not any worse than any of my other scars, honestly. But I really, really didn’t want you to get like...” He indicated at Harry with a flourish, “this.”

“How can I not?” Harry asked, voice a little too loud, his eyes were still huge.

“Potter,” Draco said, feeling that he would like this to be done with, “do I look upset?” 

“Well, you can’t even enjoy a swim without taking your shirt off.” Harry retorted. 

Draco took a deep breath and asked resignedly. “Okay, do you really want to have this discussion?”

“Yes!” Harry nearly yelled, spluttering a bit as he tried to keep up treading water. 

“Okay, but just calm the fuck down please, you’re being dramatic.”

Harry just huffed and rolled his eyes, indignant but not denying the assertion. 

“First of all, like I said, I kept my shirt on to avoid having this discussion at all, actually.” He said pointedly. “Secondly, I haven’t been shirtless willingly in front of someone since I was fourteen. And it’s certainly not the scars doing that, not the physical ones anyways.” Harry just looked at him contemplatively. 

“So, really.” Draco continued. “I did this for your benefit, not my own. Can we please drop it?”

“If you want to swim without a shirt on you should be able to.” Harry challenged. 

Draco sighed. “Not if you’re going to let it ruin your day. I’d rather keep it on, thanks.” He said with a sardonic laugh. 

“No, really, Malfoy. I won’t be weird. Just let me say this - I am really sorry about that curse. There’s no excuse for me having used something like that on someone, and I am sorry. And I’m sorry it took me this long to apologize for it.” 

Harry’s face was ernest - his green eyes bright and full of sincerity, of regret and determination all at once. 

“Thank you.” Malfoy said sincerely. It was nice to hear the apology. “But now that that’s out of the way, can we please drop it?” 

“Are you going to keep your shirt on?” Harry asked. 

“Why are you so intent on seeing me with my clothes off?” Malfoy tried to deflect. 

“I’m not!” He spluttered. “I just - I just want you to feel comfortable, and to be able to do what you want without worrying about me.” He averted his eyes, seeming to feel he may have overstepped. 

Draco considered him for a while then sighed. “If you say one. fucking. word. about it - I don’t know what I’ll do - but it’ll be unpleasant.” He pointed at Harry, threateningly, emphasizing his sincerity. 

“Not a word.” Harry said, looking solemn, drawing a cross over his heart with his finger like a small child solemnly swearing. 

Draco looked intently into Harry’s eyes before he swam back towards the shallow end, peeled the wet fabric from his body before throwing the sopping shirt at their shaded spot. He took a deep breath, collecting his courage, feeling more nervous than he wanted to let on. He turned resolutely on the spot and swam back to Harry who looked constipated from trying to keep in the things he clearly wanted to say. 

“Not a word.” Draco warned with a raised eyebrow. 

“Mm” Harry agreed, screwing up his face as he reigned himself in. He let out a long suffering sigh then said, “Okay.” Before looking back up into Draco’s face with a look of devious mischief. “I bet I’m a faster swimmer than you, Malfoy,” the all too familiar challenge back in his voice, “first one to the rock wall wins!” And he dove off without waiting for a reply from Draco.

“You lousy cheat!” Draco yelled after him as he too dove towards the rock wall.

They passed two easy hours challenging each other to more and more ridiculous feats of water-related strength and stamina. Harry was faster, but Draco could hold his breath longer, and neither of them could figure out how to do a proper backstroke effectively. 

They were laughing and exhausted by the time Harry suggested they break for lunch. Clamoring out of the water, they startled the three thestrals that had come to drink by the edge of the pond. The two ducked into the shade by their picnic lunch of leftover flapjacks and a treacle tart Harry had snuck into the bag. Harry had bribed the house elves with a gift of half finished knitted socks that Draco had started but wouldn’t miss. 

They were lying lazily in the grass, Draco on his back with an arm slung over his eyes and Harry on his stomach, head resting on his hands as he watched the thestrals gather at the water’s edge. Draco had caught Harry stealing guilt-ridden glances at Draco’s curse scars since he had removed his shirt, but Harry had kept his promise and didn’t say a word about them, nor let them ruin his day. The only comment Harry had made about Draco’s appearance was a “Merlin, Malfoy, you’re so pale it’s blinding me,” to which, Draco couldn’t even argue against. And Draco had been caught stealing similar glances at Harry - although for entirely different reasons.

Draco was listening to the orchestra of bird song in the forest mingling with the sound of a gentle breeze playing in the field flowers around them. It was a perfectly gorgeous day, and he felt gloriously content, lying there having lazy conversation with Harry. 

They were just about to go back in the water when Harry shushed Draco’s tirade about atmospheric charms. “What?” Draco asked, feeling a prickle on the back of his neck at Harry’s sudden seriousness and distant staring. Harry just held a hand up towards Draco to reinforce his silence. Then, all at once, Draco realized what was wrong. It was deathly silent around them. The raucous sounds of frogs and birds and insects that had been the constant backdrop of their time there that day had evaporated. And the thestrals. Where was their ever present company of thestrals? 

“What the fuck is happening?” Draco whispered, trying not to sound as on edge as he felt. 

Harry didn’t answer, but he sprang to his feet as he said quiet but assertively, “Get dressed.” And he began walking in a fast circle around their picnic site muttering under his breath and waving his hands in an arcing motion. “...salvio hexia… inimucum….” Draco heard him saying as he dressed in record speed and packed away their things even faster. 

When Harry was done doing whatever it was he was doing, he came back to where Draco stood with wide worried eyes and started pulling his own clothes back on. “I don’t think we’re alone.” Harry said quietly. “But with the charms I just put up, they won’t know we’re here.”

“What?!” Draco whispered, feeling panic rising. Judging by Harry’s behavior, he could be sure that whoever or whatever was nearby, wasn’t a friendly guest popping by for tea. 

Just as he was about to press Harry for more information, when he saw movement on the far side of the clearing at the edge of the forest. Three figures emerged and began walking towards their hidden spot. Draco felt Harry’s hand squeeze his bicep, reassuring him. “They can’t see or hear us.” He reminded Draco. But as they drew nearer, Draco felt is unease increase. He recognized two of them. They were werewolves. Lackeys of Greyback. They had been in the manor before. They had participated in muggle torture. Weekend debauchery. 

“Can they smell us?” Draco’s voice came out shakier and higher than he meant.

Harry shot Draco a quizzical look. “Werewolves.” Draco mumbled, feeling absolutely filled with terror now. “And not the nice Professor Lupin kind. The Greyback kind.” He reflexively grabbed Harry’s arm to steady himself. 

Harry didn’t respond he just found Draco’s hand and squeezed it tight, pulling Draco behind him. 

It seemed they would go completely unnoticed until one of them began sniffing the air in earnest. Draco repressed a violent shiver of fear as the two he recognized began walking towards their hiding place, the third wandering out of site on the other side of the pond. “They can’t see us or come past our protective enchantments, Draco, we’re safe.” Harry intonned, keeping himself between Draco and the intruders. 

“They can smell us, can’t they?” Draco asked again.

“It doesn’t matter if they can.” Harry assured. 

As the unwanted guests drew nearer, they could begin to make out their conversation. 

“...thought I smelled something, Frankie.” The smaller one growled. 

“Nah, there’s nothing, you’re still smelling your last kill on the wind.” the larger one retorted. 

“No, I smell men. I do, I can smell them.” He sounded excited, his chin lifting up as he scented the air again. 

“Wishful thinking, my friend.” The other jeered. “You’re just hoping to catch something that’s not a deer.”

“It’s been too long,” a third voice sounded from directly behind Harry and Draco just inches from the barrier of their protective charms, making Draco nearly jump out of his skin in fright, “since we had that pretty girl near Hogsmeade. Too long! And I can smell something too.” 

“You’re both barking mad!” Frankie roared, clearly agitated by his companion’s distraction. “Come on, let’s get going. We’re still hours from camp and I don’t fancy a nighttime stroll. ”

The the earnestly sniffing werewolf looked at him and seemed to deliberate whether it was worth arguing the point or not. Mercifully it seemed, it was not. 

“Yeah, alright.” He conceded. “We should head back to Hogsmeade next moon, I’m starved for a real hunt.” he leered.

The three werewolves enjoyed some graphic banter as they moved off, continuing to follow the stream out of sight. 

It was another hour before Harry canceled their protective enchantments and marched them back to the cottage in a strict and careful silence, not a single thestral to be seen along the way. Upon reaching the comfort of their forest home, Draco went straight for his bed and hid beneath his mountain of blankets and pillows for the remainder of the evening.


	14. Protego Totalum

Protego Totalum  
September 01, 2008

Harry watched Draco retire to bed before he walked back outside, ducking down beneath the overhang of the living roof outside the doorway, recently weighed down by the nest of lapwings and their substantial brood, who seemed to have mistaken the living roof for a proper hillock and who were all curled up together fast asleep. 

He walked to the edge of the clearing and raised his hands in front of him, murmuring the same protective enchantments, enchantments that had kept them safe from the eddying forces of evil all around them. 

_Salvio hexia. Protego totalum. Cave inimicum._

Harry’s lips moved around the words, but his magic flowed easily and generously from his palms and fingers, a latticework of gold that shimmered in the air before disappearing. He walked the entire perimeter, focused on the singular goal of reinforcing the protective wards of their home. Their home. His. And Draco’s. 

The little stonework cabin had been synonymous with safety since he had first accepted his residence here, and the idea that something so sinister could be lurking nearby was unfathomable to Harry - the idea that anyone else could come here at all filled him with a lingering and nagging dread. This was their sanctuary. 

_Salvio hexia. Protego totalum. Cave inimicum._

Over and over he repeated the charms, his magic snaking and weaving between the ancient wards that had stood centuries of disuse and the newer hints of Draco’s spellwork, a flitting song between the slow drumming of the Hollow’s magic. 

_Salvio hexia. Protego totalum. Cave inimicum._

The thought that someone could hurt Draco burned on the tip of his tongue and his skin was peppered with a familiar rush of adrenalin. Harry poured his desire to protect him into the magic that swirled around Tenebris Hollow, a warm breeze from the South sweeping across the clearing, lifting the tendrils of hair that had escaped Harry’s top knot before disappearing down the other side of the valley. 

Harry dropped his hands and walked back across the field of wildflowers to their front door, checking in on the little garden as he passed. An empty eggshell by the lettuce heads made him smile for the first time since he had left the rock pool - Draco had been leaving presents for the eggeater. 

Draco, who, beneath everything, was soft and kind and full of good. Who was scarred and scared and vulnerable, who had lived through horrors that Harry had only just started to imagine, so different from his own hauntings. Harry had seen the scars that his sectumsempra had left, yes, but there were so many more. There were deep gashes from his ribs curving around to his back, and jagged edges that dipped below the waist of his pants. Those were scars from other men. From men like Lestrange and Greyback. And the three they had just barely escaped that afternoon. Men who liked to leave marks on the things they claimed. 

Harry tightened his grip on the wattle fence he had made all those months ago, enraged with the idea that Draco’s life was still saturated in fear, doused in unrelenting memories of the cruelty of others, of the depravity. Harry had struggled at the pond to keep his magic contained and soft and not reach out and snap the necks of the men who threatened them, who endangered their safety. Who had made Draco shrink in fear. He had felt Draco’s heart racing in the frantic grip of his hand, and Harry had known that he could have easily killed them. 

The forest around him made it’s usual night time noises - owl hoots and the chirruping of frogs, the rustling of wind in the towering trees. It was calming in it’s familiarity - the silence had been far more terrifying. As was the reminder that the world outside still existed, with all of it’s persistent evils. He heard a faint howl in the distance. 

“Potter?” He heard Draco’s call from inside as he walked up the steps, pushing the old wooden door and ducking inside, a candle flickering to life as he waved his hand to ask for light. He wanted Draco to see him. He wanted to see Draco. For them both to know it was okay. They were safe. 

“I’m here.” He said, his smile soft, walking to the edge of Draco’s bed and sitting on the floor. 

“I made you something a little while ago, and I haven’t found the right time to give it to you, but I think after today I have very little reason not to do it tonight.” Harry said, reaching deep within his pocket and pulling out the tiny bit of white blonde Rowan wood he had been whittling away at for the last few months. 

In the centre of his palm, he held the little cube of wood, the size of a die. 

The four sides facing out all bore the same symbol, two crossed spears, burned into the wood and blackened with magic. 

The top of the cube, facing up, featured a tiny serpent, wriggling and writhing around itself, hissing softly. 

“What is it?” Draco asked, peering over the edge of his duvet, which he had wrapped around his shoulders. 

“It’s a protective talisman.” Harry said softly, taking Draco’s hand and dropping the little cube into his palm, the opposite side from the snake now facing up and featuring a tiny lion, napping. 

“I’ve enchanted it to protect the carrier, you, from unwanted advances. The person will feel an immense burning pain if they try and touch you when you don't want them to. Anyone. Me included.” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, watching Draco’s face for signs of approval. 

“I just… wanted you to feel safe.” He finished, not wanting to tell him that he had first started working on it the day Draco had fled from them falling asleep next to each other. Or that he had looked up the ancient spellwork in one of the books Narcissa had sent, and it had taken months for him to refine the magic and make it strong enough to really work. 

Draco stared at the talisman in his palm, blank shock written on his face. He was quiet so long that Harry began to feel even more nervous. Did he not want it? Was it too much? 

“You don’t have to keep it on you if you don’t want, I just wanted to do something for you, for everything you’ve done for me. You made me feel safe, you deserve the same.” Harry shrugged, feeling supremely self conscious. 

Draco finally looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. “This…” He started in disbelief. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.” 

Harry’s worried expression broke into a smile. 

“Thank you.” Draco said, finally. 

“There’s something else too, something I’ll need your help with tomorrow.” Harry said, his smile now more mischievous. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What do you need my help with?”

“Do you know what a Wiggentree is?” Harry asked, his eyebrow raised, keen to one-up Draco on something magical-theory related. 

“Of course I do.” Draco said, amusedly. “It’s a Rowan, imbued with healing and protective magic. Anyone who touches one is safe from dark creatures. They’re incredibly rare and highly valued by potioneers.”

Harry sighed. “Of course you knew. Well, did you know I found a seed in that old cupboard in a bit of parchment labeled Wiggenweld? I had forgotten what it was until I came across it in one of the old potion books. I knew we used the bark in brewing healing potions, but I didn’t realize the actual trees were living, protective sentries.” 

Draco’s eyebrows raised significantly in interest. 

“I planted the seed a few days ago in an egg carton with some compost, like you showed me for the bean seeds. It sprouted the other day, and I think with some helpful growth magic, we’ll have ourselves a proper tree in a month or two.” Harry got up as he was speaking and grabbed the little bit of egg carton hidden behind the encourage-mint, giving the fragrant creeper a little rub before heading back, filling the little cabin with the joyful smell of corsica. 

Harry knelt back down and showed Draco the little treeling. It had two leaves and a wispy stem, but he whispered some growth charms over it and they both watched as it stretched up, forming another leaf and the stem thickening before their eyes. 

Harry grinned up at Draco who grinned back and placed the little tree on the bedside table. 

“Will you help me plant him tomorrow? I was thinking just outside in the clearing by the well - and we’ll need to make him his own protective fence so the porcupines don’t get involved.” He asked, excitement clear on his face, having obviously spent much time and consideration on where he wanted their tree to live. 

Draco’s face broke into a shy smile, clear bewilderment on his face. “Of course I’ll help.”

“Good.” Harry said with an air of finality, getting to his feet again and wandering over to the kitchen. “What kind of tea would you like before bed?” He asked, turning to catch Draco stuffing the little talisman he had given him into the left breast pocket of his pyjama top. 

Harry smiled as Draco just said “Ginger, please,” and busied himself with putting the kettle on and arranging their mugs, always keeping the chipped one for himself. 

_________________________  
September 16, 2008

It was pouring rain in the Hollow and the chill of fall had settled satisfactorily in the air - Harry had been preparing for winter for weeks now, chopping and piling endless stacks of wood for the many fires they’d need to keep the little stone building habitable when the snow began to pile up. 

For now, just the rain soaked the little hillside and Harry and Draco waited it out inside, Draco pouring over his cauldron and experimenting with various ingredients and reactions to thestral hair and blood in potions, producing clouds of noxious yellow steam one moment and the sickly sweet aroma of strawberries in cream another. 

Harry had grown so fond of watching him work, the humidity making his blonde locks stand up on end, the concentration ensuring a furrow in his so often haughty brow. Harry had sequestered himself away up on his top bunk and was re-reading The Quintessence of Debauchery for the fourth time. He had hidden it up above his bed in one of the little nooks behind a cross beam, and often took it out late at night, his wandless lumos creating a soft glow from his hands. 

It was on this particular rainy midmorning that a thoroughly soaked barn owl came fluttering to the window, tapping frantically on the edge to be let in. Draco hardly glanced up from the bubbling sludge in his cauldron, but Harry put down his book and hopped to the floor, letting the poor little owl in from the deluge outside. 

It had been long since they’d gotten any mail, and Harry curiously reached for the outstretched leg, letter held aloft. Whoever had sent it had included a crafty waterproofing charm that kept the pages neat and smudge-free, despite the rain. 

Draco looked up and cleared his throat pointedly just as Harry reached out for the bit of twine around the correspondence. 

Harry froze. The owl had come to him. The letter was addressed to him. If he accepted it, the outside world would know he was alive. 

Was he ready for this? He was committed to returning, eventually, he knew that, but… was this the moment to set things in motion? Did he feel capable of contacting his friends? His family? Could they be alright with waiting for him to explain things at his own pace? To his leaving some questions unanswered? 

Harry’s hand hung in the air, outstretched. He recognized the owl, he realised. Once he could see it properly, out of the rain and puffing his feathers out in the warmth of the cottage. The little barn owl was Hermione’s. The waterproofing charm, as good as her signature. 

He reached out and undid the twine, the letter unfurling and laying open on the counter. The owl hooted, happily, clearly ecstatic to have accomplished his delivery, one that would’ve been a failure on any other day. 

The parchment was soft, the handwriting, so incredibly familiar. He felt as though he was opening a door inside himself, one to his past, but to a past he still loved dearly, a place before it had become tarnished. 

_Harry,_

_Rose is growing like a little dandelion. We just celebrated her first birthday at the Burrow, and it was such a sight - pink icing everywhere, including Ron’s hair, Teddy was nearly crosseyed trying to mimic it in his own - just imagine, pink in the red, it was a worse combination than the damned Chudley orange. I laughed myself nearly sick._

_Fleur and Bill were there too with little Victoire, oh but she cried nearly the whole time - I’m so glad Rose isn’t so fussy - she wouldn’t stop unless Arthur was holding her and singing old muggle showtunes. What a mess._

_We missed you terribly at the party, Harry. It wasn’t the same without you. It’s as though there is a hole in our life, all of our lives - we left a seat for you at the table, even though no one’s heard anything from you in months. I think all of us were so hopeful you’d just surprise us all and walk in through the kitchen door, like you used to all those summers ago, smiling like nothing could keep you from us._

_Ron isn’t the same without you Harry - he tries so hard to be strong, and I know he’s convinced you’re still out there, somewhere, fighting some dangerous battle you didn’t think you could tell us about, keeping us all safe from whatever new monsters you’d found. But me, I don’t know, for the only thing I can think is that a piece of me will be gone forever if I never see you again._

_We both think of you often, and send our love, whether it finds you or not._  
_\- Hermione_

His tears slid off the parchment, just as the rain had, a sob catching in his throat. He felt so overwhelmed with her love, her kindness, how much she still held him close, even after he had abandoned them all. Here she was, still writing, months later, still sending her love after what must have been a hundred unanswered letters. 

How could he ever have lied to her, how could he leave her with the pain and guilt of his disappearance? How much he missed her, and Ron, and little Rose even - it hit him all at once. The tears came and the sobs wracked his body, his legs going weak and dropping him to the middle of the kitchen floor. 

Draco was across from him on the floor when he finally brought his head up off his knees, his arms hugging his legs to him, curling tight into himself with the shame of having left his family with the weight of his possible death. How cruel he had been, to not let them know he was okay. How selfish. 

“They’ll be okay,” Draco said, reaching out to put his hand over Harry’s, “they’ll understand.” 

“I should have told them.” Harry sniffed, not caring that there was snot running down his nose and he must have looked an absolute mess. “They love me.” 

“They know now,” Draco assured him, “and they still love you. You needed the time, and you took it, it’s ok.” 

“I don’t know what to write back.” Harry said, rubbing his face and worrying his bottom lip, looking back at Draco’s calm and steady grey gaze. 

“You don’t have to write anything yet, just you accepting the letter lets her know you’re alive. You can leave it like that until you feel ready.” He said, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the back of Harry’s hand, as if to erase the I must not tell lies that remained etched there. 

“Okay.” Harry’s voice was muffled as he dropped his head back onto his knees and breathed a deep sigh. 

It was several hours later and the rain had long let up that Hermione’s little owl returned, hooting excitedly at the window, hopping around on one leg, eager to deliver his new message. Harry sighed, he knew this was coming, but he felt ready. It was time. He had his response ready in his pocket. 

He reached out and unfurled the bit of parchment. 

_Harry?_

Just the one word on the page, the ink blurred and shaky, as if she had struggled to write it. Blurred, he realised, with tears that had since dried. 

He sighed and pulled the little wooden otter he had carved from his pocket, his magic coursing from his fingers to the fine grained Black Walnut and swirling around the polished lines he had so meticulously poured over. He had spent hours enchanting the little figure, focusing all of the newfound joy and peace of his new life, all of his new feelings of freedom and the weightlessness of being carefree. It was magic he had always wanted to try, but had never found the time, or the place, or the energy to pour himself into something so complex and detailed, yet beautiful. He never would have been able to, he had realised, midway through the complex enchantments. He would have had to know these feelings to replicate them. 

He had gotten the idea from his mother. Well, from Slughorn’s story of his mother. All those years ago she had impressed him with her little charm that enchanted a petal to transform into a fish. A little bit of herself she had given, so thoughtfully, so carefully. 

The little otter was carved to be curled up, sleeping, head tucked against her little body. 

Harry pulled out a little scrap of parchment and scribbled his first words to the outside world since March. 

_For Rose. Put her in water._

It was all he needed to say. Hermione would feel his magic, she would know he was fine. Better than fine. She would see the joy as soon as the little carving was submerged, as the little otter would come to life, splashing and winding through the water, flipping on her back and floating happily, a perfect replica of Alice’s lazy days in the summer stream. Hermione would know. It was the most comfort he could ever give her, far more meaningful than words. 

Harry rolled up the parchment and attached it to the little owl, who had been waiting patiently. He gave the bird a pointed look and said, “you can tell her I’m ok. She doesn’t need to worry.” But the little owl just hooted and hopped to the window to take off, her silent wings carrying her off into the night, ghostly white amongst the trees.


	15. Threads Bound Together

Threads Bound Together  
September 24, 2008

Draco’s mind was boggled. All of his theories of unicorn blood were somehow being transposed onto thestral blood. The unicorn blood, by all accounts, seemed utterly useless. Thestral blood, on the other hand, was proving far more interesting than he could have ever anticipated.

Nearly every blood magic related potion he tried to incorporate the thestral blood into seemed to increased the efficacy. And what’s more, he couldn’t seem to find the same caveats the unicorn blood held. He sat hunched over his notes, scribbling theories and results frantically at the kitchen table. He often got up and raced over to his potions bench. He was beginning to wonder if he should be testing thestral hair and saliva as well. All the while, Harry was an ever present entity in the little cottage, making sure Draco didn’t skip meal times or forget to take breaks. He even helped with scanning the small ancient texts looking for clues and deciphering the sometimes vague meanings.

He glanced towards the top bunk where Harry lay reading, face contorted in thoughtful concentration. Really, though, those old smutty stories weren’t that interesting, but Draco smiled nonetheless. He realized he needed a break from his notes. While the thestral blood research was proving fruitful, he still didn’t know how to organize it in a way to present to the research board at St. Mungo’s.

He decided he would respond to Luna and Neville’s last letters and then pick up his knitting for a while. It was getting frightfully chilly in the hollow, and he was determined that he and Harry would have ample warmth before the snow came. He was getting rather good at knitting hats and scarves and was beginning to experiment with patterns and colorwork. It was thanks to Luna that he had a steady supply of wool, and thanks to Neville that he knew how to dye it many fun colors with the plants around the hollow, which he and Neville had traded samples and stories about since April.

Moving aside his research notes, he pulled a piece of blank parchment towards him and began to write.

_Neville,_

_I’m glad you enjoyed the scarf, it was my pleasure, really. Thank you again for the tips on the rue. I’ve harvested oak galls, acorns, pokeberry, and woad as per your recommendation for my next dye batch. How is the greenhouse coming along?_

I appreciate your Halloween invite, and I know you’re worried about me being a hermit, but I am really in my element and I’m not lonely. Like I said, the thestrals keep me plenty of company.

_And no, I hadn’t heard Harry Potter was missing. I hope he’s found, but honestly I wouldn’t worry too much, isn’t he prone to reckless abandon and secret missions? And you know The Prophet loves blowing up every little scrap of news about him. Maybe he’s on a secret mission with the aurors._

_I’ll send you samples of my dye experiments when I finish them._

_Thanks for being a gem of a friend._

_-Draco_

He tapped the parchment with his wand and watched it wrap itself into a tight scroll with Neville’s name on the side. He pulled his next piece of parchment and began to write again.

_Dearest lovely Luna,_

_Thank you again for the wool. It was perfect._

_I was honestly astonished to hear you and Greg had become romantically involved, but I’m pleased for the both of you. Greg needs someone who can show him that the world can be full of kindness._

_It sounds like you’ve been keeping yourself busy by expanding your groups and increasing meetings. I agree, substance abuse is neglected by and large and your work is so needed. You’re doing something truly incredible. I hope St. Mungo’s can someday catch up to your groundbreaking work._

_No, I hadn’t heard Harry Potter was missing until I received Neville’s owl just before your own. Perhaps you’re right though, perhaps he was lured by a wrackspurt infestation. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. If Voldemort couldn’t off him, I fear nothing can._

_Please send my regards to Greg._

_-Draco_

He hadn’t told Harry that his friends were bringing him gossip of his mysterious absence, or that he spent most letters deflecting said gossip. He tapped Luna’s letter and watched it furl into another tight scroll. He scribbled delivery instruction on a scrap of parchment and went to place the letters in the enchanted cupboard. Those wonderful little elves would get his letters delivered for him.

He straightened and looked over and met Harry’s gaze, who instantly blushed and looked away. He did that a lot, Draco mused, what an odd man. He sighed deeply and went over to his knitting bag and pulled out the moss green yarn he had dyed with mushrooms from the birch stand to the South, and sat down again to work on his next hat. He was beginning to feel a bit cabin feverish, having not gone out hiking again since his brush with the werewolves. He had felt so exposed. So unsafe. Suddenly, the wilderness he had come to love and enjoy, felt dangerous. It was as if someone had pulled back a curtain to show the horrors behind it.

At least the thestrals kept coming around. They were nearly alway in the garden these days, and Draco never had to stray very far from the house to see one, lumbering along or rolling in a bare patch of earth. But, he wasn’t yet ready to face the forest beyond the house’s wards again. Beyond the spell work that Harry had cast.

Harry.

That enigma of a man. Deeper and more intelligent than Draco had ever given him credit. Plagued with guilt and a heavy burden of expectation from everyone. Draco had never met anyone as broken and shattered as he was, someone who could see his dark parts and be seen in return. He felt truly safe in Harry’s presence, even with the looming cloud of his doubting past and his internal boggart. He felt in his pocket for the talisman Harry had gifted him and felt a swooping sensation where his stomach should have been, his thumb running over the rounded edges, ghosting across the etched spears. The gesture was profound to Draco. So few had ever recognized Draco’s need to control his personal space, and no one had ever done so much to support that.

Their relationship had blossomed into this strange and beautiful mixture of support and banter. Respect and care. It was the most intimate relationship he’d ever had, and it terrified and elated him. Just being in Harry’s sphere allowed him to learn things about himself that he couldn’t have on his own.

When he tried to reconcile this version of Harry with the boy he went to school with, he just confused himself further. That relationship had been fueled by righteous indignation, teenage hormones, jealousy, and a healthy dose of spite.

Draco had been a prat back then. He had been misguided, spoiled, neglected, and desperate for attention all at the same time, and Harry drew his eye and his focus no matter where or what he was doing. And that hadn’t seem to change, he thought wryly to himself as he found himself watching Harry again. Some things never change, it seems.

____________

Draco stood sweating over his cauldron when a tapping at the window caught his attention. He looked over to the kitchen window to see a hogwarts barn owl looking expectantly at him. He recognized the seal of the headmistress as he strolled across the room and opened the window. He was relieved that McGonagall had responded so quickly to him. Earlier that morning, in a moment of desperation, he had sent a request to the headmistress to ask if he could visit his godfather’s portrait in his old potion’s office. He had thought to himself on more than one occasion in the last few weeks, “What would Severus say?”, when it finally dawned on him that he could probably ask his portrait just that.

Unscrolling the letter he read:

_Dear Draco,_

_You are welcome to come speak to Severus’ portrait today if that suits you. Send your response with the owl so I know to be ready for you._

_Minerva_

He suddenly felt giddy with nervous anticipation. He desperately missed his godfather and hadn’t spoken to him since 8th year when he would sneak into the potion master’s office and talk with Severus late into the night. To have the space and time to speak with him again would be a special thing indeed.

He scribbled his response and sent it off with the waiting owl before dashing back to his cauldron to finish off his work.

Harry walked in a short while later while Draco was packing his research notes.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, with a surprised look on his face. Draco hadn’t left Tenebris Hollow since the werewolf incident.

“Actually, yes Potter.” Draco glanced over at him as he clasped his bag closed. “I’m heading off to the school to have a chat with Severus’ portrait. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but it may be all day. Think you’ll manage?”

“Oh.” Harry said, considering this. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I have some things in the garden I’m finishing. I can make dinner for us tonight, too” Draco could tell he was trying really hard to appear at ease with being left to his own devices all day.

He smiled at Harry reassuringly, “That would be great.”

________

 

Draco apparated just beyond the iron gates of the Hogwarts grounds and saw Hagrid standing there waiting to let him in.

“Hello, Hagrid.” Draco called warmly.

“‘Ello there!” He said loudly, and as Draco crossed the threshold Hagrid wrapped him in a near crushing hug. He found he didn’t mind one bit. Hagrid may be huge and overwhelming, but like Harry said, there wasn’t a more pure soul alive. “How’s the unicorn stalking, ey?” he asked.

“Oh, you know exactly how that’s going, Hagrid.” He said with a dry smile as they began to walk up to the castle. “But I’d love to come and hear what you have to say about my research when I’m done with McGonagall.”

“O’ course!” He beamed at Draco, clearly relishing the idea of sharing his knowledge and experience. “Well, I only came to let you in and say ‘ello, so I ‘spose I’ll leave you to it. But me classes end at 4, so please come and have a look in before you go off to yer hidey-hole.”

“Will do, Hagrid, see you later.” He said happily as Hagrid stomped off to his cabin and Draco continued his march to the castle entrance where he could see the stiff and domineering figure of Minerva McGonagall waiting for him at the castle doors. She was unchanged, perhaps more gray, slightly more lined, but in all the ways that counted, she was that same immovable fixture.

“Headmistress.” He nodded with a small smile as he climbed the steps towards her.

“Good morning, Draco.” She nodded back with a nearly imperceptible smile, as she turned and began marching back into the entrance hall with Draco at her side.

“How is the start of term treating you?” He asked politely as they turned and began descending down the stairs to the dungeons towards Snape’s old office, a few lagging students scuttling past them towards their morning classes.

“Oh, it’s been fine.” She said. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now, even in your isolation. Harry’s been missing since March, and no one’s heard a word. While we tried to keep it quiet, the prophet got wind and the public story just broke the other day.” She was trying to relay the facts briskly but Draco could hear the pain behind her professional manner. They both glanced as what looked like a second year scuttled down the corridor crying. “Even some of the students are being affected by the news.” McGonagall said shrewdly.

Draco rolled his eyes at the student’s retreating figure. Plebeians. “I’ve heard, that must be hard for the people close to him, I’m sorry.” He finished awkwardly.

“Thank you, yes, it concerns us deeply.” She nodded gravely. “Merlin only knows what he’s gotten himself into this time.”

“Something harrowing, I’m sure.” Draco tried for coolly indifferent, but it came out sounding more knowing than he meant it to.

McGonagall shot him a sideways glance, seeming to remember who exactly she was speaking too, “Yes, well, I suppose I would prefer something harrowing than something fatal.” She said stoutly.

When they reached the door to Severus’ office, she turned a softened and kind look to Draco and said, “You can have as much time as you need. No one uses this office. I’m sure you’ll want to catch up with Hagrid afterwards, so don’t feel obliged to come find me if you haven’t the time.”

“Thank you, headmistress.”

“Of course.” She said as she tapped the office door to unward and open it. “Oh, and Draco, I hope you know you’re welcome to this school any time. Even if it’s just to eat in the Great Hall and be near another human being. It doesn’t have to be in a professional capacity.”

He could tell that, she too, was concerned about his supposed isolation.

He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and bid her goodbye as he stepped in the room to face his godfather.

“The prodigal son returns.” He heard the soft snarky voice of Severus and couldn’t help but smile as he approached the portrait and pulled out a chair in front of the desk.

“Hello Uncle.” he said, putting his bag down and looking to his godfather.

“Hello, Draco.” He said with a surprisingly soft look in his eye. “And tell me, why in the name of Merlin’s tits have I seen neither hide nor hair of you in nearly six years?” he asked, poorly concealed exacerbation and irritation clear in his voice.

Draco snorted in a most undignified way. It was something he learned in his 8th year, once he was an adult and not a pupil of Severus’, the man had a crass sense of humor and swore like centaur in winter. Something that never ceased to shock and amaze him.

“I’m sorry, I should have come to see you.” He admitted, feeling suddenly very guilty.

“I have a portrait in your mother’s house Draco, care to explain your neglect? Your mother has been telling me some very interesting things about you.” he added, seeming amused.

“You know how I feel about the manor.” Draco said shortly. “And I cannot begin to fathom the things my mother must be telling you.” He sighed, and began to unpack his bag.

“Yes, she says you’ve become a most unsociable hermit with a tendency to rudeness.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. His mother would say that about him. “Well, she’s not wrong.” Draco grinned.

“Back to your gross neglect of me,” Severus said shrewdly, “from what I hear you’ve been in the forest since March, and you’re only just now coming to me for advice?”

“Are you going to be like this all day?” Draco asked in mock exhaustion.

“Probably.” Severus smirked.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited you. Really, I am. I’ve been busy, and going through a lot. Maybe I can get a portrait for my flat and you can heckle me on a more regular basis.”

Severus seemed mollified by this suggestion as he finally sat in his painted chair to give Draco a speculative look.

“So, how’s your painted existence in the headmistress’s office?” Draco asked, trying to change the subject.

Severus rolled his eyes dramatically. “Dreadfully dull.”

“I’m sure anything compared to the life you lived would appear dreadfully dull.” Draco said, his admiration of his godfather evident in his smile.

“Although, have you heard the-Boy-Who-Couldn’t-Brew has disappeared without a trace? That’s causing quite a stir. Honestly, why did I get killed by that vile serpent for him if he was just going to go and disappear. Probably died doing something absolutely embarrassing like choking to death at a hotdog eating contest, and it’s been covered up to add to his mystique.” He scoffed, watching Draco closely.

“Yes, Uncle, I’ve heard, and I doubt he’s dead.” he said, feeling irritated by this suddenly omnipresent topic.

“Hmm.” Severus said after a while. “I was expecting a more dramatic response from you.”

“Like what?” Draco asked, feeling nettled, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair, defensively.

“You two were alway so… hormonally charged.” he said evenly.

“What?!” Draco squaked, throwing his hands in the air. He already knew this, but seriously could they not have this discussion again?

“That’s more of what I was expecting.” Severus said smugly.

“Yes, yes, I already know your cock and bull theory on Potter and my… rivalry.” Draco said, blushing. He really did not want to rehash this right now.

“So, imagine my surprise when I ask you about boy-wonder’s disappearance and you barely bat an eyelash.” Severus teased.

“It’s because your theory is wrong and Potter’s probably off fighting some dark wizard somewhere far away and forgot to tell his friends. I’m sure he’ll turn up and everyone is just overreacting. I really could care less, either way.” He said flustered. “Can we talk about why I’m actually here now?” Draco asked trying to keep the note of desperation out of his voice.

Severus just stared at him, and Draco realized what he was doing only after a few seconds. “Uncle, we’ve talked about this, portraits can’t perform legilimency.” He sighed, feeling definitely unamused now.

“Fine.” Severus said shortly. “But we’re coming back to this later.”

Draco rolled his eyes in response as he leafed through his notes. “Okay, let’s start with the unicorn blood.”

Draco went over his research from top to bottom starting with the unicorn conundrum and his (and Potter’s) theory on soul purity, finally ending with the thestral blood and his nonexistent theory on that. Severus nodded along and asked sporadic questions.

Draco finally got to his last page of notes and looked up at the potion master’s portrait and said, “And that’s all, really. I have no idea why the thestral blood is working better than the unicorn blood, and I can’t find any information or previous research on thestrals. I have no idea how to carry on.”

“Hmm.” Severus considered. “Draco, really, this research is very thorough. You should do the testing on hair and saliva as you said and then submit what you have to the research board. You don’t need to solve the why just yet.”

“Don’t I?” Draco asked, feeling a little taken aback by the high praise.

“You’re studying the ‘how this work’ aspect, not the ‘why does this work’ part” He said shortly. “The “why does this work” part comes later, after your research has been peer reviewed and the studies have been duplicated.”

Draco thought about that for a moment. He knew his results would need to be investigated and that the “why” really would be another research project entirely, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here that he needed to discover before giving his precious research over to the scrutinizing eyes of others.

“May I make a suggestion?” Severus asked, snapping Draco out of his deep concentration. “I think it would be wise to share your research with the department of mysteries.”

“The department of mysteries?” Draco asked in shock. “But they don’t usually deal in medicine.”

“They don’t usually, no.” Severus conceded. “But your consideration on soul purity has intrigued me. And so has the behavior of the thestrals. Perhaps the fact that you were the master of the Elder wand and have been physically marked by very powerful wizards has created an energy around you that the thestrals and unicorns respond to. Hagrid may be able to access freely gifted unicorn blood, but you may not due to some force that is yet to be understood by us. And, perhaps, that same force has allowed you to access the healing properties of the thestrals that others have been unable to. Just a thought. But the department of mysteries study these types of esoteric things, they’ll want to know.”

“I’ll write to them and see what they have to say.” Draco said after a long pause. “Thank you for your insight, Uncle, really. It’s nice to talk about this with someone who understands the material.”

They passed a few more hours talking potions and gossiping about lives of former students. Severus was shocked into a comical silence when Draco told him about his close friendship with Neville. Yes, Neville Longbottom. Gryffindor Neville.

“Are you shagging him?” Severus asked with incredulous curiosity.

“Why does everyone think that?” Draco asked in horror. “No, I’m not shagging him, he’s a good friend and it’s entirely platonic. I’m allowed to have friends.”

“Of course you are.” Severus said, regaining composure. “Any other male platonic friends you care to share about?”

Draco paused for a moment, a snarky sentence about Harry on the tip of his tongue. “No, just Neville and Greg.” He sniffed, trying and praying for an indifferent delivery.

“I’m just having a hard time believing that you’re not seeing someone. You just look too… pleased with yourself.”

Draco just gawked at him, “What in Godrick’s name does that even mean?” Draco realised the slip too late, Potter’s use of the Gryffindor founder’s name when he swore having obviously rubbed off on him. Fuck.

Severus eyed him shrewdly. “You just have that sickening happy and contented visage that I only ever saw when you bested Potter in school or when I took house points from Gryffindor for Potter's unnecessary heroics. Notice the common thread.” he said poingently.

Draco blushed furiously and slumped in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Good lord, not this again.” He pleaded.

“Draco.” His voice sounded oddly serious now, and Draco looked up to see Severus surveying him pensively and thrumming his finger’s on his chair arm. “You don’t know where Potter is do you?”

Draco resisted the urge to shout ‘NO’ too soon, so as not to sound suspicious. “Are you asking me if I’m responsible for his disappearance?” Draco asked disparagingly, hoping the sarcasm and disdain was not overdone.

“I suppose not.” Severus said, looking keenly suspicious at his godson.

“Right, well, if you’re done accusing me of school boy crushes and nefarious deeds with the Golden Git in equal measure, then I think I’d better be off. I still have to go see Hagrid.” Draco said with supreme nonchalance as he packed his bag, stomach feeling more and more in knots.

Severus seemed suitably placated with this response, and Draco promised him that he would visit his portrait over Christmas at the Manor and send McGonagall research updates for him regularly.

________________

Draco left Hagrid’s feeling distinctly pleased by the pleasant visit and equally starved, as he hadn't had anything since breakfast and Hagrid’s rock cakes were simply inedible. It was getting dark, and he wanted to get back to Harry. He had had to sit through another rousing rendition of “Did ye’ hear Harry’s missing?” and it was beginning to wear on his nerves.

He apparated just outside the gates after waving goodbye to Hagrid and was filled with a sense of ease at the sight of their little garden laying out before him, the stone cottage comfortably nestled into its hillside. He stopped to whisper a few growing charms over the little wiggentree that they had planted, now nearly as tall as Draco himself, and reaching valiantly up to the sky and down into the earth before it hardened too much with the frost of winter. He picked a mint leaf and chewed it as he walked up the steps and opened the door.

The shock of seeing the kitchen in a state of complete disarray rooted him to the spot as he took in the chaos before him. “Potter?” He called, with mounting concern.

Had Harry been attacked and dragged off after a vicious food fight? There was yellow powder all over the counters. The smell of burnt rice was strong. There were peas all over the floor, and a strange red sauce splattered across a few cupboards. The old smutty novels were laying all over the house in odd places and he was just about to start panicking when Harry came out of the small loo in the corner of the house looking sheepish. His hair looked like he’d recently been electrocuted, his flannel overshirt was buttoned incorrectly and covered in what looked like turmeric, and the knees of his jeans were stained with mud. He looked a fucking state.

“Potter, what the fuck happened?” He asked, his eyes wide and eyebrows subsequently lost in his hairline.

Harry pushed out a long suffering breath and scrubbed a hand through his truly wild looking hair that was threatening to come loose from it’s lopsided topknot. “I tried to make dinner.” He said, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Uh huh.” Draco replied. “And when did you release the hippogriff into the kitchen?”

Harry bit down a small laugh and finally looked at Draco. “I think I’m having a crisis.” He said finally, with a confused and pained look on his face.

“Alright.” Draco said softly. “What kind of crisis?” They were standing facing one another from across the cottage, and Potter began to fidget where he stood.

“Well, first it was a craving crisis.” He admitted, with what looked like a lot of effort. “And then.... then it was what I think was an... identity crisis?” He said with an even greater effort. He was alternately running his hands through his hair and tugging awkwardly on his mis-buttoned shirt, and didn’t seem to know whether or not to look at Draco or the floor.

“Okay. Can I help you clean this up? Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked, uncrossing his arms and indicating to the mess.

Harry looked profoundly relieved that Draco wasn’t mad and his tight shoulders slumped down, releasing their tension. “Yes. Please. To both.” He rubbed his hands over his face before marching back to the kitchen towards Draco and beginning to clear the chaos of the spices on the counter. Draco pulled out his wand and began to help. Within a few short minutes the kitchen was back to its state of order and cleanliness and Harry was standing awkwardly by two pots on the stove. Shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Dare I ask what’s in there?” Draco asked tentatively, moving a little closer to where Harry stood.

“It’s supposed to be dinner, but I’m not sure if it’s going to be good or if I should even eat it.” He said sadly, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, his top knot coming undone completely and tendrils of his black hair sticking out at odd angles. He really did look frazzled.

“Start at the top.” Draco said firmly but gently.

Harry continued his staring at the offending food before taking a deep breath and saying, “I use to live on Indian take-away. It was literally the only thing I managed to eat, especially when I was...” Harry paused, his face drawn and his shoulders seeming to droop under the weight of the memories. “Well, when I was living at Grimmauld Place, anyway. And the place near to there was the only place open at the ungodly hours I wanted to eat.”

“Bunny Chow.” Draco said, and Harry’s head snapped up to meet Draco’s eyes.

“How did you-”

“I’ve seen you there, it’s my favorite takeaway spot.” He said simply, shrugging.

Harry regarded him for a moment curiously. “Huh. Well, anyways. I was thinking maybe it would be great if we had Indian tonight because I haven’t had it in so long. I didn’t even think about it. But there I was, halfway through making aloo matar when it all just hit me. The smell. It’s like it brought back every memory of every time I had eaten it and gotten high. Even every time I’d gotten high and thrown it up. Everything was there. It was like I was in Sirius’s room.” He was staring into the distance, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath.

“And I still had my magic, and I was afraid I would go apparate off somewhere to use again, but I didn’t want to. I mean. I did. I really wanted to…” He looked up at Draco, his bright green eyes almost apologetic. He was sorry for having the thoughts, and he wanted Draco to know. To see that he felt guilty. It was clear on his face.

“So, I tried to power through. Like I did with the honey. I grabbed a bunch of books and tried reading to distract me. I even tried wanking.” He blushed violently again, looking down at his hands, which were resting on the counter.

“Walking, running laps, doing pushups, all kinds of stuff. I wanted to keep busy, because my skin was crawling but not my skin, my insides. Like everything inside me was crawling around and unsettled and I couldn’t manage a way to make it stop. I tried making other foods. It was all a bit of a frantic blur actually, but, eventually, I managed to calm down, I just hadn’t gotten around to cleaning the mess I made.” He looked embarrassed.

“Potter, you should be really proud of yourself.” Draco said, watching Harry recoil at the praise. He reached over and grabbed Harry’s shoulder to get him to face Draco, and grabbed both of his arms firmly, looking at him evenly. “I’m really proud of you Potter. Really, really proud.”

“But I made a fucking mess of the house and flailed wildly for hours.” He said, looking pained. “I didn’t know it would be so hard without you here.”

“Be that as it may.” Said Draco with a soft smile, jiggling Harry’s limp arms. “You did it. You didn’t use. Even though you could have left and done so, easily. You should be really proud of yourself, that’s a huge step.”

Harry seemed to consider this for a long while before looking back up at Draco and returning the smile. “I guess so, yeah.” Just as Draco released his hold on Harry’s arms, Harry very ungracefully flung himself forward at Draco and squeezed him in a desperate hug. It took Draco a moment to realize what was happening before returning the hug soundly.

Harry smelled like spices and fire smoke and sweat and he really liked, more than he wanted to admit, how solid he felt against Draco. They both broke away quickly without looking at one another and after an awkward pause, Draco walked towards his potions bench to set down his bag before going to grab some more comfortable clothing to change into, while Harry resumed scabbling around the kitchen.

When he walked back out of the loo Harry was setting the table and serving up his homemade Indian food.

“I decided I want to eat it.” Harry said determinedly. “I want to have better Indian food memories. I want to replace them, starting here.”

“Okay.” he replied simply, feeling his heart swell. “Smells amazing. Although,” he said peering at the rice, “the rice smelled a little… overdone.”

“Just the bottom of the pan.” Harry reassured, smiling.

Draco didn’t respond. Just smiled and shook his head.

“Would you like to tell me about the second part of your crisis?” Draco asked as Harry sat down across from him. He was surprised when Harry blushed a deep purple, no small feat on his dark skin. “That good, huh?” Draco asked with raised eyebrows in response to Harry’s embarrassed silence.

“Yeah.” Harry said, seeming to gather his strength as he picked up his fork and stared at his food. “Let’s just get it all out in one go, then.” He seemed to say more to himself and his plate of food than to Draco.

Harry took a committed bite of his dinner and chewed with his eyes closed for a thoughtful moment before swallowing and looking up at Draco, who found himself profoundly distracted at the quietly pleasurable look on Harry’s face.

Then, he began without prelude, as Draco took his first bite. “How did you know you were gay?” The shock of the question made Draco nearly choke on a piece of potato.

After a bout of fitful coughing, he looked at Harry with watering eyes and a bewildered expression and said, “That is not what I was expecting.”

Harry looked, if possible, even more embarrassed now that Draco had nearly choked to death in front of him because of the question. “You don’t have to answer.” Harry hurried, his voice quiet and small, his shoulders rounding as he hunched over his plate of food, keeping his eyes downcast and obviously keen to avoid the issue and move on.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t mind.” Draco reassured, using his healer voice, feeling his heart race and his hands start to sweat. “It just took me by surprise is all. This is really good by the way.” He said pointing to his food and eliciting a small smile which seemed to relax Harry before continuing.

“I think I’ve always known, but I didn’t want it to be true with how my parents spoke about it.” He answered thoughtfully and slowly, trying to calm his sudden nervousness. “And then, in 5th year, I fooled around with Theo as well as Pansy and that was enough proof for me. Women are an enigma to me.” He ended, with a look of haunted and bewildered disgust on his face.

Harry apparently couldn’t stifle a laugh at that.

“And then, as if to seal my fate as a gay man, my parents arranged that premarital night with Astoria.” He said dryly.

The smile on Harry’s face dropped and he looked seriously at Draco. “So, you’ve never enjoyed sex with a woman?” he asked gently.

“If you can count what I did with Astoria as sex, then no. No, I have never enjoyed sex with a woman.”

“But you find men sexually attractive?” Harry asked, an unreadable expression on his face that increased the nervous fluttering in Draco’s stomach.

“That is the definition of gay, Potter, yes.” Draco said, with what he hoped was sarcasm.

Harry huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, looking more at ease, straightening up in his chair. “So,” he started again, but looking awkward, “even though you’ve never had consensual sex with a man, you know you’re gay?”

Draco stilled at the question and felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. It was a valid one, he supposed, for someone who didn’t know any better. He looked at Harry hard and watched him fidget uncomfortably, trying to figure out the expression on his face, trying to figure out the curiosity. “I know I’m gay.” Draco finally said and Harry nodded, looking back toward his plate of food, knowing better than to push further.

Trying to lighten the mood a little with some false bravado, Draco asked, “Are you considering coming to the dark side, Potter?” and sent him a half hearted smirk.

Harry blushed again, dropping his fork and fiddling with his hands in his lap. “Well, no, but when I was frantically trying to get my mind off using earlier, I was reading one of those books and I ended up wanking a whole bunch to distract myself and I couldn’t figure out if it was because of what I was reading or not.”

He looked mortified at his admission, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, but powered on, still not looking up. “And then I was just thinking, like you seemed to know without too much fuss, and I thought it would be so much easier if people just got letters like we did from school. I didn’t know I was a wizard, and then I got a letter saying ‘hey, you’re a wizard’ and everything clicked for me. Like, it would be really great if I could get a letter saying, ‘hey, you’re gay’ or ‘hey, you’re straight, you just have an issue with your cock’ or ‘hey, you’re incapable of a sexual relationship stop thinking about it so hard’, or ‘hey, you’re asexual’, you know?” he rambled at his plate before looking up pleadingly into Draco’s face.

“For the longest time, I just thought I wasn’t going to be able to have sex with anyone. Ever. I thought, fine, I lived this whole rancid life just to get to the peace and quiet of post-war freedom and surprise, Harry Potter, your cock doesn’t work and you hate sex and no pleasure for you, get ready to die miserable and alone. I really thought that was me.” Harry paused, looking at Draco intently. “And I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Draco repressed a grin, trying to not let on how light headed and nervous this conversation was making him feel. He had the very inappropriate urge to laugh. Get it together Draco, he thought to himself. Don’t. Make. It. Weird.

Suddenly the smut made sense, they way he watched Draco made sense, his failings with women made sense. This oblivious man was so fucking clueless, and so fucking gay.

“It’s okay.” Draco said kindly, trying with all his might to keep his healer mask in place. “Well, let’s start from the top. Did you enjoy having sex with that prostitute?”

“No.” Harry said, without hesitation. “No, I did not.” His cheeks were ruddied purple again.

“And you couldn’t get an erection for Ginny?” He asked, using his clinical voice while his insides writhed like snakes on fire.

“No. Not without extraordinary effort, and even then, it wouldn’t last.” Harry said, his face hardening.

“But you get hard reading 400 year old gay smut?” They were getting closer, he thought.

“Apparently.” He said with wide eyes.

“Have you ever had specifically erotic thoughts about women? Like, ever imagine being with one, and just get a raging hard on?” Draco asked, having so much empathy for the man in front of him, but wanting to make sure this was as clear as possible for him.

Harry just stared at Draco with a shocked expression before saying, “No. Have you?”

“Absolutely not.”Draco said with a smile. “But, we’ve already established I’m as gay as they come. You’re the one having an identity crisis.” Smooth, Draco, smooth, he congratulated himself.

Harry had a look of abject shock on his face. Draco continued, “Every fantasize about touching a woman or having sex with a woman?” Still using his healer voice, despite the rising tide of flutters in his chest.

“No.” Harry said quietly.

“Could you be asexual? Do you even like to think about sex at all?” Draco asked, taking another bite of his dinner as if they were chatting about the weather. Chew, he reminded himself, chew the food, and swallow the food, don’t make it weird, don’t choke to death. He was trying desperately not to hear Severus’s voice in his head nor see his knowing smug face.

“I mean, I wanked like six times today, and I do really want to experience more intimate sex with another person, so no, I don’t think I’m asexual.” He said, still looking very bewildered. “Since I have been clean I feel like I’m going through a second bout of teenage hormones - I’m constantly having urges and desires and emotions I had completely forgotten about these past few years. It’s a bit overwhelming, really.” And he certainly looked overwhelmed, Draco thought.

Draco nodded his understanding before asking the final question. “Ever fantasize about touching a man? Having sex with one?”

They just stared at each other for a long, long time, while a look of dawning realization slowly crept across Harry’s face. “Oh my fucking god.” Harry said quietly not looking away from Draco, and Draco working hard to maintain this intense eye contact and not burst into flames. “Oh my god.” Harry said again in complete disbelief, running his hands through his hair.

“I mean, I think I would feel so much fucking better if all this is, is that I’m gay and I actually just don’t like women and there’s a chance I’ll be able to get naked and have fun with someone and maybe fall in love with them and maybe I’ll get to live my happy post-war life after all.” He said looking towards the ceiling with this hands over his face, muffling his voice.

Draco just smiled knowingly at him and nodded, trying not to spontaneously combust at the realization that Harry Fucking Potter was gay. _GAY._

Harry suddenly looked absolutely panicked when he returned his gaze towards Draco. He awkwardly cleared his throat got up to clear their plates, nearly running back to the little sink in the kitchen and asked, his voice a scratchy squeak, “so, how was Hogwarts?” in a valiant effort to change the subject.

Draco didn’t push the issue and they finished their evening in peaceable conversation while Draco’s insides did odd things that made him feel a little nauseous and excited at the same time, catching himself smiling every time Harry’s back was turned. Harry didn’t seem to have any more questions about being gay, but nothing else needed to be said.

After Harry went off to take a much needed bath, so as to decompress after his harrowing day, Draco pulled a piece of parchment out onto his desk. He spent some time marking and charming the paper before sneaking over to Harry’s bunk, pulling his ‘hidden’ copy of  _Quintessence of Debauchery_ from behind the beam by his pillow, and tucking the folded parchment inside, and replacing the book.


	16. Death-Beasts

Death-Beasts  
October 05, 2008

Harry’s lungs burned with the effort, his feet flying across the well worn path, dashing across the gurgling stream, not even pausing to say his customary hello to Alice, who scuttled over to her burrow in alarm as he leaped across the riverbed, barely breaking stride, his feet scarcely touching the ground as he sprinted back up the path to the hollow, leaving half footprints in his wake. 

He cleared the grove where Draco had first found him all those months ago, broken and battered and defiant in the face of forced survival. How different he was now, his muscles toned and his heart strong, and he made it to his familiar clearing in record time, bursting through the wards and yelling “Malfoy” at the top of his lungs, coming to a standstill in the field beside the cottage, his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling heavily, but a grin wide on his face, his features exuding a profound sense of joy. 

“Malfoy! Come and see!” He yelled, again. His voice strong and clear in the cold air. He knew the other man had heard him, and the door to the cabin swung open with a muffled swear. 

“What, Potter? What in the name of Salazar Slytherin do you want?” Draco said, pulling on one of his winter boots and looping a green scarf around his neck, the evening air getting steadily colder as the sun sank behind the mountains to the West. 

Draco looked up at him with his characteristic unpleasant glare. Harry knew he had been working on writing up his preliminary results all morning, but he was too thrilled, too shocked not to come right back to share with him what had happened. This. This was Draco’s triumph as much as it was his. 

Draco was still glowering as he stomped over to where Harry was standing, his arms crossed and his features dark. 

“Are you going to tell me what all the yelling was about? I was in the middle of something very delicate and important, Potter. This is not the day for interruptions…” His voice trailed away as he caught sight of something coming gliding over the trees behind Harry, illuminated against the blue violet sky, and his mouth hung open, his eyes going wide. 

“Harry…” He said softly, watching the glowing form alight in the field behind Harry, shaking its head and snorting indignantly as it folded it’s impossibly large leathery wings. 

Harry grinned, nearly bursting at the seams with excitement. “I did it. I cast a patronus again. It was the last spell I wanted to try, I was so worried I’d not be able to. But here he is. He’s changed, as you can see. I needed my wand for this one, but now that he’s here I’m not sure I would need one again, and it’s lasted so much longer than my stag used to. I ran all the way from the Rowan grove and he’s still with me. Isn’t he beautiful?” He said in an unrelenting stream of commentary.

“It’s a thestral.” Draco said, rather stupidly, still staring at the glowing form. 

“Yes, you dolt. He’s a thestral. It took me all morning, but he’s here. I did it.” He said again, the pride pouring out of him. 

“Why did it change?” Draco said, almost to himself, his brow furrowing. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I died and I didn’t want to come back this time? I haven’t really had time to think about it, I just wanted to show you as soon as it happened.” He shrugged, his stubble nearly hiding a beautifully lopsided smile and his hands reaching out to Draco reflexively. 

“I thought of you. Of these last few months.” Harry said, softly now, his bright green eyes searching Draco’s pale grey ones. “Of how you believed in me and trusted me enough to help me. Of how you gave me the space to be who I am, the space to even figure out who that is. I’ve never had that before.” He paused, and licked his lips nervously. “I thought it was over, my life, I thought I was never going to be anything but a pawn in a game I didn’t know how to play. But, you saved me and, fuck, you did so much more than that, you showed me how to have a life worth living. How to be honest, with myself first.” Harry’s green eyes were bright and emphatic and he stepped closer, his hands just nearly grazing the bottom edge of Draco’s sweater, their foreheads almost close enough to touch. 

Harry paused his advances and whispered across the space between them, “I thought of the first night you let me sleep next to you, and holding your hand while we watched the stars, and I thought of all of the days you made me tea and told me I am more than my failures, and the night you let me hold you and all the ways you knit me back together when I am coming undone.” 

Draco closed his eyes at the same moment he leaned down, resting his forehead against Harry’s, their breath mixing in the space between them, visible in the cold October air. 

“I’m so proud of you.” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Harry heart was pounding in his chest, but he wasn’t sure if it was still from the run or being let in so close to Draco, sharing this with him. He had balked all those months ago at the term intimacy when Draco used it to describe them sleeping next to each other, but here, in the clearing, bodies close and Harry’s nose full of the smell of Draco’s dyed yarns and potions brews, of the hints of lavender and mint, he knew exactly what he meant. Intimacy. 

Harry closed his eyes too, overwhelmed with the urge to pull Draco into his arms and hug him tight, to tell him he was proud too, just for this small step between them, for this closeness, and all the nights he had let Harry in. But, this intimacy was scary for Draco, he knew that, so he was the first to pull away, looking up into those soulful grey eyes to smile reassuringly, and to walk Draco back to the cabin and out of the cold, still holding his hand. To put on tea and listen to him go on and on about his editing drafts upon drafts of highly technical potions research, that mostly went right over his head anyway. To have a night like the many others, a night full of Draco’s bedtime rituals and Harry’s rather loud snores. 

To the life they had reclaimed together, piece by piece. 

______________________  
October 10, 2008

Harry came back late in the evening, his hike up to the mountainous areas to the North having taken much longer than he had anticipated. He had thought he’d just get some exercise for a few hours, but once he spotted a peak, he had known he wanted to summit it, scaling near vertical stretches of rock face and scrambling up stretches of vine covered cliff, his magic helping him grip and climb up what would have been insurmountable stretches of terrain. 

It had been worth it though, for once at the summit he’d found a flattened overhang that looked out across the forest. His forest. He could see a tiny column of smoke in one of the valleys to the South that marked Tenebris Hollow, the thick carpet of trees stretching for miles and miles - it felt insulating, sheltered. Far off in the distance, on the horizon, he thought he could just make out the turrets of Hogwarts, and that too brought him comfort. Hogwarts had always been his home. He had always felt he belonged here. 

It helped significantly that there had been no other contact with werewolves or any other stray humans wandering their way for months. Harry had also expanded his protective spells and started concealing his more well worn paths, just in case anyone did come near their little hideaway, including repelling spells and disillusionment charms. It was as though he was claiming his territory, marking his kingdom as his own. Building concentric circles of protection around the cottage. Around Draco. 

Thestrals had swooped and glided in the sky, and Harry had laid back on the sun-warmed granite and watched them, marveling at the beautiful creatures. He had come a long way from the scared boy who first saw them pulling carriages, who had only imagined that they could be one thing - the tragedy, the heartbreak, the pain of death. But they were merely guarded, they only showed themselves to those who had seen such loss, felt the ache of their own mortality in the light of someone else’s end. They only appeared to those who had learned that this life is fragile, that this life must be so carefully kept. 

When Harry saw them now, he thought of them as harbingers of empathy. Of reminders that there is a world we cannot see, even if it is existing right alongside us, and that world holds mysteries we may never explain. 

As he had lay in the glowing warmth of the autumn rays, he had thought about the place beyond the veil, about the dead who had appeared next to him, who had never left him. They too, existed right beside him. 

Sirius and Remus were with him, for all of his failures and all of his work he’d done recovering, his parents too. For those we love never truly leave us. Dumbledore’s words echoed in his head as he cast his own patronus and watched it take flight in the afternoon sky, stark white next to his all black companions. 

It was easier, now. To imagine himself less alone. He knew it was because of Draco. 

Draco. 

It was when his thoughts had focused on his companion that Harry felt the chill of the season settle on him, and he had roused himself to trek down the mountain. He spent far too much time these days reflecting on the feelings he might be having. The strange stirring within himself that Draco was becoming more than an enemy turned friend, more than a focus of his admiration, and much more akin to the epicenter of his world. 

Harry barked out a laugh at the memory of the note Draco had left him in his Quintessence of Debauchery, a little roughly drawn Hogwarts delivery owl hooting out an unmistakably clear announcement that Harry was, indeed, without a doubt, gay - his official notice. It had been so kind of him, thoughtful, and that just was Draco. He was like that, now. 

Harry was noticing it more and more, how he cooked Harry’s favorite meals when he was having a rough day, how he kept the sugar and honey out next to each other so Harry could decide on sugar if he was already struggling, how he was always offering reassurances, even in the smallest of ways. The note was just like him - he had listened to Harry, even in all of his panic and confusion and he had come up with a way to show him he understood, and he could help. Harry’s chest swelled at the thought and he rubbed his stubbled cheek thoughtfully. 

But there were so many layers there, so many problems. Harry had spent the hike back convincing himself that he was only suffering so many waves upon waves of embarrassingly vivid fantasies about the blonde man and his graceful ways and charming smiles and furrowed brow above his ever-hiccuping cauldron because of their isolation. Because Draco had saved him. Because Draco kept saving him. And because, with Draco, he felt needed. He felt strong and protective and safe, more so than he had in years. And that was just it, wasn’t it? He was attracted to being a savior, wasn’t he? Hadn’t Hermione diagnosed him with this complex in first year already? 

Draco didn’t need someone lusting after him. He didn’t need the added complication of Harry’s newfound sexuality and markedly increased libido. He didn’t deserve it, actually. He deserved someone he wanted back, and Harry felt awful at the idea of trapping him into this nightmare where they shared a cabin in the middle of nowhere and Draco had no options for escape, no choices. How would that make him any better than the men who had hurt him? No. It wouldn’t do. Draco deserved better.

He had reached the conclusion that he was just a newly gay man with a newly refreshed sense of self and a new grasp on his life, with very little fantasy fuel and too much spare time just as he entered the Hollow, the familiar smell of woodsmoke coaxing him home. 

Harry stopped alongside their Wiggentree and whispered his little growth charms, the ritual having resulted in the little twig doubling in height and quintupling in girth, looking as though it had inhabited it’s little mound for a decade already. Harry ran his hand across the trunk happily, so pleased with how much progress it had made. Draco was right, it was so satisfying to watch something grow, to be part of creating life. To have something they were nurturing, together. 

He ducked under the little sag in the roof that now housed a family of bearded tits, their redecorated nest re-lined with moss and accentuated with a wild collection of twigs and dried leaves, who’s little pinging calls had become part of the symphony of the hollow, and often punctuated much of their morning routine. Harry had named the little breeding pair Marie and Pierre, after listening to Draco go on in French nearly a whole afternoon, and he was looking forward to meeting the little brood of chicks they would hatch, and giving them equally fanciful and exotic names. 

Draco was in the kitchen, humming to himself while he peeled carrots for dinner - carrots from their own garden, even. Draco hadn’t turned around when Harry came in, and he didn’t rush taking off his boots and winter coat, distracted instead by the graceful line of Draco’s shoulders, half uncovered by an oversized sweater he had obviously knit himself, though about four sizes too big for his slight frame, the sleeves pushed up dramatically so his hands could be free to work, dark mark be damned, scars be damned. It was a dark maroon, almost purple, but Harry could imagine it was nearly Gryffindorian, and his heart clenched in his chest at the sight. 

Draco turned and caught him staring at him, coat still only halfway removed. 

“What’s wrong you git? You look as though you’ve had such a fright and I know it can’t be this soup I’m making because it smells incredible and if you don’t want any it’s fine I’ll eat it all myself, even though you’ve been gone all day and didn’t even let me know when you’d be back and if you’d be here for dinner.” Draco was grinning slyly, his eyes bright and soft and kind and creased at the corners with his obvious joy that he was indeed home at last and Harry’s mouth was suddenly so very dry with how effortlessly beautiful he was, and how stupid he had been to take so long to notice. 

Draco had turned back to sweep the carrots and celery and potatoes he had chopped into the pot on the stove, and Harry felt such a surge of all of the things he wanted to do, an all consuming hunger that made him lick his lips and hold his breath. Waves of desire, inevitable as the rising tide, drowning him in images of Draco pushed back against the counter and Harry kissing his skin and tasting every inch of his flesh, of Harry’s breath against him, hot with the promise of pleasure, of wanton adoration. 

“It does smell amazing.” He finally said, softly, carefully, his eyes closed, not wanting to give away the tightness in his chest, the difficulty he was having just with breathing, just with being so close to someone he wanted to take in his arms like he’d never wanted anything before. It was running down his spine and in his blood and for fuck’s sake he was hard and he didn’t dare breathe because all he could imagine was the growl within him escaping his lips and he had just told himself he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. 

His body was thrumming with it, and it took him several more silent seconds to swallow down the pull, the hunger. 

So, Harry took a bath before dinner, disrobing and filling the tub, waiting for the water to heat up until steam was slowly drifting off the surface and filling the small washroom. His body was on fire. His skin radiated heat. He felt delirious with need, aching with the desperation of it. He had been hard since he got home, and making small talk while Draco excitedly described his research breakthrough and his garden harvest and his wonderful delicious soup he was so proud of was too much. 

He kept getting distracted by the way his hair fell over his eyes and how soft his skin looked and how his long legs ended in the draping of his oversized sweater and all Harry wanted to do was slip his hands beneath it and find the dimples in his lower back and run his hands down along the curve of his ass. 

A low growl did escape him this time and he ran his hands down his stomach to his cock, precum already leaking from him, one hand wrapping around himself and the other gently rolling and lifting his balls, which felt almost tender and heavy with need. 

It had been a month since he’d gone and had his six-in-a-day misadventure in avoiding cravings, and he had only gotten himself off twice since. That had obviously been a mistake. His libido was back, and it was as if he was in the grips of a second round of puberty, everything too sensitive, his urges always just beneath the surface, his self control not nearly good enough. 

It wasn’t as though Harry had properly gone through the first round, anyway. He had been in the middle of an adrenalin fueled panic over whether or not he’d live another day or be responsible for the downfall of wizardkind. He hardly ever even thought about sex in those days, most of his testosterone ending up in fits of rage or bouts of unexplained anger - looking back, he realised that if he had known he was gay he probably would have had a boyfriend, and a sex life, and a way to relieve some of the pressure he always felt building inside him, eating away at him. 

So here he was, twenty seven and just rediscovering how much he enjoyed having an orgasm. How much he needed it. He put up a silencing charm and was shy for only a moment, distracted by the absolutely sinful idea of Draco walking in on him, watching him, teasing him while he stroked himself. He could easily picture his smirk and snarky commentary. “Is that all you can manage, Potter? I expected more from the savior’s cock.” Harry bit his lip, the thought making precum seep from the slit held in his fist. 

Harry’s magic conjured lube within his palm without him really thinking about it, a spell he had found written in the margins of one of Draco’s books on pureblood housekeeping, and quickly memorized and mastered wordlessly. His hand slicked, he slowly pulled his grip down his shaft, softly groaning at the sensation. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, his hand twisting back up and circling the sensitive head of his cock, his skin shivering and his mouth falling open with the hedonistic pleasure of it. 

The lube he had conjured dripped down his shaft and Harry coated his second hand, rolling his fingers around each ball in turn, not wanting to come too quickly, too caught up in enjoying every sensation. He brought a foot up and rested it on the edge of the still steaming tub, his lubed fingers now rubbing slow circles over the sensitive slip of skin just below his testicles, his brow furrowing with the new sensation, his breath hitching and his balls drawing up in response. He kept himself balanced on the edge of his orgasm for a moment, his eyes closed and a low desperate moan escaping his parted lips, before pulling a few quick strokes up around the head of his cock and coming hard into his hand, the force of his orgasm leaving his legs weak and his breathing fast. 

Harry stood a moment, reveling in the petite mort, his mind blissfully blank and his desire quelled for the moment. He did a quick cleaning spell and lowered himself down into the hot bath, feeling more at ease than he had in months, dropping low into the water, eyes closed and the heat wrapping itself around him. It was long before he felt the need to get out. 

A pair of common loons called from the little pond, their eerie tremolo trills echoing across the Hollow and out into the night.


	17. Voileami

Voileami  
October 20, 2008

Draco was pulled from his dream by the sound of a guttural moan, and he realized, after a moment of horror, that the sound had came from his own throat. Good Godrick, he had been dreaming of Harry. Again. 

He had dreamt that he had Harry pushed against his potions bench and was pressing his aching groin into him, moaning into his mouth as they shared a sloppy and frantic kiss. But instead of pressing into Harry and moaning into his mouth, he was pressing himself into his mattress and gasping into his pillow like some randy teenager. For fuck’s sake, he thought to himself and he listened intently to hear whether or not Harry was awake, if he had heard Draco. He cringed at the thought of what else may have slipped from his lips during sleep. 

He could hear Harry’s even breathing as he slept on, oblivious to Draco’s dilemma. Thank Salazar's tits for that. 

He was so hard it was painful and it was making him see spots when pressed against it with the heel of his hands. Fucking hell. All these erotic dreams couldn’t be healthy, he thought. He had never in his adult life been this constantly preoccupied with getting off. And it was so difficult to toss off in a one room cottage when you were constantly in the company of the person you wanted to fantasize about. 

No. He reminded himself. NO. 

He was not allowing himself to fantasize about Harry, no matter how insistently his subconscious tried to force the issue in his sleep. Ever since Harry had cast his patrons and gotten so deliciously close to him, Draco couldn’t stop wanking over it. Just remembering the feel of Harry’s hands on the hem of his shirt and their foreheads together made him forget to breath and sent a jolt of pleasure to his groin.

It was fucking embarrassing. Draco had taken a pure and chaste moment and turned it into wank fuel like a total creep. It had taken every ounce of self control and self flagellation not to run his fingers through Harry’s hair and pull him into a searing kiss. He was eternally grateful that Harry had pulled away first, as he didnt think he would have had the strength to do it himself. 

He felt embarrassed and ashamed for the desire he felt towards Harry. It wasn’t fair to either of them, and Draco needed to get his shit together before he let it ruin their peaceful existence. 

Harry was in recovery. He was just barely seven months sober, and he was scared and vulnerable and unsure of his hold on his sobriety without all of the complications of Draco’s erratic emotions. And fuck, on top of that, Harry had only just figured out he was gay. Even if he was fairly certain Harry had been subtly eye fucking him for a few weeks, Draco was 110% certain it was because of their isolation and the fact that Draco had been there, had helped him through the thick of it. Draco had been Harry's lifeline, and then they had traded places and Harry had proven that he could handle the things that Draco had given him to hold, and it was natural for them to feel bonded in the intensity. Any adoration from Harry must certainly be circumstantial. 

Right? 

As soon as they left the forest, Harry would realize that the world was his gay oyster and he would find any number of suitably attractive and unbroken men to experiment with and fall in love with, god knows they’d be lined up around the block to prove they were worthy of Harry fucking Potter. Draco was too damaged, and marked, and a fucking death eater, and he couldn’t put himself through the trauma of opening himself up in that way to his schoolboy crush just to be left when reality set in. Draco felt it would be entirely predatory and immoral to allow anything to happen between them. This was supposed to be a safe space for both of them.

Harry should explore his newfound sexuality with someone who wasn’t terrified of intimacy, he reasoned. Someone who could enjoy sex. Someone who wasn’t covered in scars. Just as he had come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t think about getting Harry off anymore, he mindlessly pressed his hand against his raging hard on again and had to stifle another moan as Harry’s brilliant green eyes flashed across his mind. 

Those eyes that laughed with him and watched him so closely and with such kindness as they worked together in their cozy kitchen, making tea and sharing parts of themselves. The green that had haunted him since he was 11, that had captivated him since his early years, a green that had coerced the death of his godfather at the same time they had stared down the most dangerous wizard who had ever lived. Everything about Harry was like that, powerful and dangerous, while at the same time it was soft and safe. He was the kind of man who had collected the deathly hallows and felt no need to use them. 

It was all fine and well, too, he reasoned, to wank himself raw thinking about the things he wish he could do with Harry, but he knew that faced with the reality of sexual intimacy, he probably would never be able to cope. 

He would get spooked and end up running, he knew it already. He had accepted the fact, ever since his fiasco with Charlie, that he would be alone, and the best he was ever going to get were vivid dreams of Harry’s hard body against his.

God dammit. 

He grabbed his wand out from under his pillow and cast a silencing charm around him. It was over in four frantic pulls, white spots erupting behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut. He came over his fist and stomach as an unbidden image of Draco pressing himself into Harry’s heat forced its way into the forefront of his mind, and he couldn’t stop a desperate moan from escaping his lips. He let the wave of euphoria and exhaustion wash over him as he regained control of his breathing. He cast a cleaning charm as the aftershock of pleasure left him feeling empty and doused in shame. 

He couldn’t do this to him, to Harry. He needed to get a grip. Fuck, being around Harry made him feel like a horny teenager again and it was getting ridiculous, he chastised. After canceling the silencing charm and rolling onto his side he stuffed the duvet around him and tried not to think about Harry as he let sleep reclaim him.

_________________  
October 21, 2008

The next morning, Draco felt tense. Their usually easy morning banter didn’t feel easy at all. It felt like it was taking everything he had to be… normal. To not let it slip through that he was having these unbidden desires flood through him. That every time his and Harry’s eyes locked he fumbled on his words and forgot what he was saying. 

It didn’t help that he had been avoiding leaving the hollow. It was making him tetchy and twitchy and altogether unpleasant to be around. He needed to get out, it was time. He was a wizard, he lived through war, and he had a talisman to protect his personal space. Not to mention, he had spent months hiking through the same woods, by himself no less, without incident. It was time to get back outside before his constantly close proximity to Harry melted his brain and his ever thinning resolve. 

“I’m going out!” He spluttered, taking himself and Harry by surprise, after he realized he had been staring at Harry’s ass while he made tea. Harry turned to look at him with an odd expression while Draco tried to put his cool mask in place and pray to whoever was listening that he wasn’t blushing madly. 

“For a hike.” Draco clarified, stupidly. Harry just tilted his head in curious contemplation as Draco turned to start gathering his things to leave the cottage. 

“Want some company?” Harry offered. He was so kind and open and fucking friendly. Insufferable, really. 

“No, no, it’s alright, Potter.” He hoped he didn’t sound too dismissive, but he needed to clear his head. Alone. 

“You sure?” Harry sounded cautious, and maybe even a little nervous. 

“Yes, why? Are you worried?” Draco asked, looking back at him.

“I mean, it hasn’t escaped my notice that you haven’t left the hollow since we went swimming.” He said slowly and carefully, sensing Draco’s raw nerves. “So, I’m just making sure.”

“Well, thank you for your worries, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I managed before.” He said, pulling his trainers on, decidedly ignoring the many thoughts of all of the things they could get up to on a hike together. 

Harry just continued to watch him speculatively, sipping his mint tea. Draco suddenly realised he must be worried. About him. The git. 

“And, this crafty wizard with terrible hair gave me a rather fascinating “fuck-off” token, so really, I will be fine.” Draco smiled at him as he pulled his coat on and patted his pocket to indicate the talisman Harry had made him. He had yet to see it in action, but that was only because he had yet to be on the receiving end of unwanted physical advances since it was gifted to him, but he was sure Harry’s magic would work as intended. 

Harry seemed to relax at that and gave him a lopsided smile over the rim of his chipped mug that made Draco’s insides writhe and his brain forget what the fuck he was suppose to be doing. He just stood there watching Harry smile like a dumbass until a squawking raven broke through his haze and he turned with a mumbled, “later” before he could embarrass himself further. 

The air was crisp and cool, but the sun was still warm on his skin. He loved this time of year. The changing colors, the clear air, the harried preparations by the forest creatures for the change of season. He took the well worn path to the East, the same he had used to track and follow the unicorn herds in the early spring. He thought he would just walk until his racing mind calmed down and he hoped, that after all the exertion, his body would be too tired to produce an erection later. 

Self pleasure was something he had spoken to Beatrice about a lot in their sessions as an important part of reclaiming himself after what had happened in the war, but it always made him slightly uncomfortable. And now, what with getting an unwanted erection nearly every night, he was being made to cope with his shame at an alarming rate. He decided, following this train of thought, that he would write her about this. It had been a few weeks and he didn’t want to get behind on his own mental health needs just because he was grossly distracted by Harry’s mere presence. She had indicated in her last correspondence that she was worried he was isolating himself, as she did not know he wasn’t alone, and asked him to reconsider coming in for physical appointments. 

Perhaps he should. He thought to himself. He knew though, that if he did go see her, he would have to admit that he was staying with someone. He couldn’t effectively utilize the therapy or address the layers there if she was unaware of that most important fact. And, if he was being honest, he wasn’t ready to share his cottage-mate just yet. He thought that maybe he should discuss this with Harry. He sighed aloud to himself. Being an adult was difficult. 

He was walking at a fast clip down the path, relishing the exertion. He was not one to sit still for long and it had been stupid to coop himself up like that for weeks on end. His mind felt more clear already. 

He was breathing in the clean cool air and feeling sated on a level he hadn’t in weeks when a thestral popped out on to the path ahead of him and blocked his way. He smiled at the leathery creature and patted its flank as he tried to scoot past it to continue his walk. But instead of lazily standing by while Draco moved on, as they usually did, the thestral backed up and stopped Draco from walking past, swinging its head around to regard him, and sniff toward his outstretched hands. 

Draco didn’t think much of it, and tried again to maneuver around it. It stepped back again, off balancing Draco, who stumbled into a bush. “Excuse me, good Lord.” He mused as he righted himself and tried to move again. He managed to get past the thestral just as another stepped out and blocked his path again. 

“What the fuck?” He asked the thestrals. This was very odd behavior, indeed. The two thestrals just looked at him as he heard the rustling approach of more of the winged beasts coming in on either side of the path. 

“What is this?” He asked, feeling very confused. He was soon surrounded by a dozen or so thestrals, all encircling him with the same intent expression. “I’m sorry I haven’t been out recently, really.” He said, feeling they must be disappointed in him and hoping to placate the strange creatures. One of them stepped forward towards him, and he was suddenly filled with apprehension, a feeling he had never had around the gentle beings before. Thestrals didn’t eat people, right? That’s not something he ever learned about them, right? No, that couldn’t be it. Strange though they were, surely he wasn’t in danger. Not to mention, he had his talisman. He was fine. 

The small thestral, whom he then recognized as one that spent a lot of time in their garden, the one with a scar through her left wing and that he had taken many samples from, moved to stand right beside him, nibbling the sleeve of his coat. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, feeling bemused, reaching out to stroke her face as he had done so many times before. 

In response she pulled his sleeve and began towards the trees to his left, forcing him to turn on the spot. “No, we can’t go in there.” Draco protested, feeling frustrated with this one sided conversation, but curious all the same. He was about to yank his sleeve away from her when a second came up to his other side and grabbed his left sleeve, helping to pull him forward. 

“Okay, I guess we can.” He said with a bewildered smile, as he began to follow his two new guides. He figured that, since they had always been so kind to him over the months, he could entertain their odd behavior for a moment. As he stepped into the thickness of the trees, he saw the thestrals before him form a line and begin walking along a well hidden deer trail. The thestrals on either side released their grip of him, and the small scarred one stayed close at his back, nudging him forward. 

“Yes, yes, I’m moving.” He said in response to her gentle encouragements. 

He walked amid the slow procession of thestrals for what felt like an hour. Every so often, when he lagged or was distracted by a bird or an interesting mushroom, his little thestral friend urged him forward. 

The forest floor was now beginning to slope downwards and the trees and undergrowth around him was getting thicker and more difficult to move through. The thestrals seemed superbly unconcerned with the tangled branches that slapped across them as they moved, but Draco was getting frustrated with how often he was getting hit in the face. 

Soon, the floor’s decline became so dramatic he was finding himself crouching and using the trees and bushes to help him descend the precipitous slope. The thestrals, on the other hand, seeming to have no issue at all. His curiosity was mounting more and more as they descended. Where in Merlin’s testicles where they taking him? 

He thought briefly that if it got too much he could just apparate away, but he was so intrigued that he couldn’t stop himself from sliding enthusiastically down the embankment they had brought him to. He was covered in mud and sweat, his hands were filthy from groping for tree roots to help leverage him lower and lower into what seemed to be a large crevice in the forest, and he knew his slacks would never recover from this excursion. The plants and trees were so thick around him that he couldn’t gauge his location whatsoever. All he knew, was that it was much darker down here than in the upper forest around Tenebris Hollow, and yet, the thestrals kept on. Eventually, he took out his wand, cast a lumos, and stuck it in his mouth between his teeth as he continued to climb down.

Lower and lower they sank into this forest valley. Before long, the leaf strewn earth began to give way to sharp, pink granite outcroppings covered in detritus from the forest above. As the trees thinned out and dropped away, he finally saw a bottom to their descent. Using a straggly birch as leverage, he dropped himself from the edge of the forest and down onto a what looked like smooth basalt planes of a riverbed. About four meters wide, and stretching out around a bend on either side, it looked as if they were standing in a dried up waterway. 

Though, he supposed, when it did rain, this was probably flooded with water. He looked up and noted that his view of the sky was nearly completely obscured by the trees around this valley. He could just make out the deep walls of the mountains on either side, blanketed in thick growth. All around him, his entourage daintily found their way down onto the rock floor and began to walk to the South. They were now following the smooth water-worn floor uphill and Draco’s sense of curiosity burned in him. Where the hell were they taking him?

Suddenly, at the bottom of this unknown crevice, he had a moments speculation about how foolish he was being. Harry had no idea where he was and what if Draco fell and broke his leg or hit his head or got lost? He had clearly been spending too much time with a certain Gryffindor, he mused as he continued on his way, the small thestral close at his back, he was a perfectly capable wizard, after all. And a healer. If there was anything he could manage, it was broken limbs. He shook off the troubling idea and continued on. 

He wondered if he should give his little thestral escort a name. It only seemed right. That way, he could address her properly when they spoke. He turned slightly as he walked and reached out to touch her face. She seemed to enjoy that. As he felt the fuzz of her nose and smooth tight leather of her skin as he contemplated what to call his companion. 

“Voileami.” He said, and smiled, because she was. She was his veiled friend. The beast that could walk between the veil, only to be seen by those who’ve been touched by death. 

She just nudged his hand as he rubbed the smooth space between her eyes. 

Turning his attention to the procession ahead of him, he saw that the crevices they walked along turned ahead and meandered out of sight. As he followed the thestrals around the bend, he saw that the deep walls of the valley became even more sheer and domineering. He felt as if he were in the jagged heart of the forest. 

He paused to look up at the towering cliffs above him to see the the sun passing behind the ridge as the morning wore on, casting the gorge into deeper shadow. He heard a soft rush of water now, and saw a trickle coming off the rock wall ahead, the water following the flat expanse of stone and dissipating down past where they had come from. 

A nudge at his back reminded him of his herd, and he continued his march up and around the bend to find where the procession went. But, when he came around the turn, they had gone. Vanished. Perplexed, he turned back to see his lone companion staring intently at him. 

“Where did everyone go?” He asked as he surveyed the area, looking for signs of a long black tail swishing and listening for a rustle of leathery wings. 

As if she understood the question, Voileami walked past Draco towards the steep cliff wall at their left and began climbing up, carefully placing each hoof on well-considered ledges and landmarks. She didn’t look back to see if he was coming, and she needn’t have worried, because Draco was soon scrambling up to follow her. His curiosity obscuring any sense of caution. 

“What in Circe’s name are you getting yourself into, Draco?” He muttered to himself. 

One moment he’s pining over Harry, the next he’s being led by thestrals into a deep gorge in the forest where no one would be able to find him. Good planning, he thought. Really top shelf work. 

As he ascended the near vertical wall, he was amazed at the speed and ease with which the thestral summited the climb. At about four meters, he saw an opening in the cliff wall just above him and to the right. That, he considered, must be where they were climbing to. The rushing sound of the water was getting louder, and he could see where it was escaping out of the mouth of this apparent cave. 

Above him, his guide disappeared into the stone wall and soon he was reaching for the last ledge and hauling himself onto flat ground. 

Whatever he was expecting, it was not this. 

He was at the mouth of a spacious cavern that was hidden to anyone looking up from ground level. The opening was just tall enough for him to pass under and about 5 meters wide. Along the right wall of the cave was a shallow stream of water coming from the dark depth at the back and pouring over the smoothed ledge and into the gorge. The rest of the cave was full, literally full, of thestrals. Almost as astonishing as the sheer number of thestrals before him were the colonies of glowing blue algae spattered along the walls and ceiling of the cave, casting everything in a moon-like glow. 

There were dozens and dozens of beautifully constructed round nests of woven sticks that were blanketed with green moss, some of the glowing algae, and leaf litter. The cave was huge and wide and there must have been near 100, that he could see, of the giant winged beasts all meandering between the large nests, greeting tiny foals, bringing food, and cleaning one another. 

He couldn’t tell how how far back the cave went, as it plunged into velvety blackness, but he could assume it was deep, judging by the stream that stemmed from it.

He quickly did a mental inventory of everything he had every read about thestrals living in their natural environment, and not one scrap of research he had done had told him that they were capable of such beautiful nests, or that they congregated in glowing caves. Most resources stated that they were forest dwelling herd animals, and must surely, simply, sleep wherever they roamed. Yet, these were well established nests, he marveled, similar to what some large eagle species would build over the course of years. 

He stood there at the opening of the cave gaping in bewildered astonishment at the majesty before him. Why did they bring him here? Why did he deserve this secret? Why did they keep helping him?

He was pulled from his reverie when Voileami approached him and stood watching him as if she waited waited for him to follow. He re-lit his wand and started forward as she turned around and began walking away. He moved with her through the maze of nests, watching the love and attentiveness of the thestrals to their young, the care they took in adjusting the nests, in placing new moss or plants, weaving new saplings into the walls. 

Some parents slept curled around their foals, large leathery wings draped over them like a blanket shielding them from soft glow of the walls, others took flight off the cave ledge and up into the forest beyond, to do whatever it is that thestrals do. Not a single one of them took notice of his presence, aside from his guide. He felt simply dumbstruck by the fact that he had been brought here. These creatures were far more intelligent and sentient than he could have ever thought. Far more complicated, and mysterious.

Voileami stopped in front of a nest no different than the others, which was occupied by the smallest little thestral he had ever seen. It looked fragile, and it’s skin had a papery look to it. Voileami, who must be its mother, he thought, stepped into the nest, onto a soft carpet of moss, and nudged the foal, encouraging it to stand. The thestral bleated in protest and Draco saw what the problem was immediately, as it wobbled on unsteady legs and fell. The foal had a clearly broken front leg. 

He smiled, finally realizing why he had been led here. They had brought him to help. To heal. He had healed that male thestral’s gashes all that long while ago, and they had remembered. 

He felt touched that they trusted him enough to bring him here, and he gingerly stepped into the nest and over to the foal, softly speaking words of comfort and care to the little one. 

_______________

Draco ran full speed from the spot where he apparated to the front door of the cottage and burst in with a loud “Potter!” Only to see the handsome git sitting right in front of him at the kitchen table, looking disheveled and startled. 

“What?!” He said looking supremely concerned, standing up. “What happened?”

“The most amazing thing.” He said, slightly out of breath from his mad dash. “The thestrals.” He breathed, grabbing his side. “ They took me to their cave.”

“What?” He asked, looking dumbfounded, as if Draco was speaking French. 

“The thestrals! They led me through the forest down into this gorge and up a cliff face to their lair!” Draco was gesticulating wildly with excitement, but Harry just looked more and more concerned.

“What?!” He asked again, even louder.

“How are you not understanding this?” Draco asked impatiently. 

“Start over, from the beginning, explain what you’re on about.” He said, looking more alarmed and sounding more severe than Draco thought the situation warranted. 

But Draco did, he told Harry about being stopped on his hike and being led into the thick of the forest. About following the herd into a gorge. About scaling a rock wall into a glowing cave. About the stunning nests they constructed. About his friend Voileami. About the foal with the broken leg. About how he promised them he would return tomorrow with food for the foal and to check on the healing. About how he apparated from the cave entrance to the cottage so he could tell Harry his theory on thestral magic as soon as he could. 

“So let me get this straight.” Harry said looking completely flustered. “You don’t leave the hollow for weeks, and then the first time you decide to get back out there, you just, what? Follow thestrals into a deep dark cavernous gorge and into a cave?!” he asked with bemused incredulity, his voice a little too loud. 

“Is that what you’re taking away from this story?” Draco asked frustratedly. 

“Can you cast a patronus?” Harry asked, suddenly serious. The question totally taking Draco off guard. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Can you cast a patronus?” Harry repeated. 

“No?” said Draco. 

“Is that a question or a statement?” Harry smirked, despite the serious tone.

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“No, Potter, I cannot cast a patronus.” Harry’s face hardened. “Would you like to tell me why in blithering fuck that’s relevant right now when I’m trying to tell you about half-mythical creatures being all mystical?!” Draco was so bewildered by Harry’s attitude. 

“Because you could have gotten hurt!” Harry shouted, making Draco step back. “You could have gotten hurt, and how on earth would you have been able to call for help?! Honestly, you’re supposed to be the smart, careful one here!” Harry looked angry and pained. 

Draco was completely flabbergasted by Harry’s concern. He had never had anyone shout at him because they were worried about his well being like this before. He had no idea how to feel about it. Or even how to respond. 

“…uhh.” Draco felt a complete loss for words. “I am uncertain if I should be apologizing, or what it is you’re expecting from me.” He said, trying really very hard to convey that he was confused and not wanting to sound like a dick, but probably failing. 

Now Harry rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair at the kitchen table, sighing heavily, crossing his arms. 

“I’m sorry I shouted, I shouldn’t have.” He averted his eyes and he didn’t really sound all that sorry. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” The admission sounded soft and sincere. 

“Thank you for your concern Potter, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Draco said feeling both touched and irritated, finally taking the seat across from Harry. 

“I know, I know you’re a perfectly functional adult and you don’t need saving. I know. I’m not trying to save you, really I’m not.” He now looked beseechingly into Draco’s eyes. “I would just be at a total loss if you broke your leg, froze to death, and got eaten by thestrals.” He offered a small smile and was clearly going for some humor, but there was too much vulnerability there for it to be funny. Draco’s mouth went dry and his pulse quickened and he had to mentally shake himself. 

Draco didn’t know what to say. He just looked back into those impossibly green eyes and was momentarily lost until Harry spoke again. “Let me teach you how to cast a patronus.” He said, the words coming out like a soft plea. 

“Okay.” Draco said softly. “If it’ll get you to calm the fuck down.” He said, taking a stab at humor himself. It failed miserably. Harry didn’t smile. He just looked back at him with a blazing look that went straight through Draco and to his groin as tried with all his might to regain control of the conversation. “Are you going to let me tell you about my theory on thestrals now?” His voice came out scratchy and breathier than he intended, and he kicked himself internally for giving his inner boggart more fuel. 

“Tell me about your theory, then, go on.” Harry said, finally smiling. His face softening and his shoulders relaxing as he un-crossed his arms and settled back into his chair, ready to hear what Draco had to say.


	18. The Little Dipper

The Little Dipper  
November 04, 2008

Harry rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved in his tattered black jeans pockets. “Come on, Malfoy, let’s go!” He yelled at the cottage, eager to get started on helping Draco with his patronus charm. 

He had really scared him, that day, coming back from his grand adventure in the forest. It was exciting, yes, but what if something had happened? Harry had been gripped with a burning, nauseating fear, and it hadn’t left him for days. What if Draco had been attacked and lost his wand? What if he had lost consciousness and frozen? Roils of anxiety rolled around in his gut at the thought. He knew he was being irrational, really, Draco was a trained healer. He was a very capable wizard. He didn’t need Harry babying him. In fact, he was just as safe as Harry was wandering around the forest. Well, aside from the fact that Harry did 90% of his magic wandlessly these days and he felt more powerful than he ever had been before, and more in control. 

He sighed, smiling to himself. His magic these days was immense, but not in the terrifying and unpredictable way it had been before - it was calm and placid and gentle, and responded to his needs without him having to do much thinking about it. When he had walked out this morning, the grey sky had cleared and the weak winter sun had shone through to the clearing where he wanted to practice. He had started to notice that he had a bit of an effect on the weather these days, the atmospheric charms he had learned so long ago crackling up from his fingertips without him actively thinking about them, the winter chill constantly buffered by a sense of warm and comfort that surrounded him.

Draco stumbled out of the door, pulling one of his winter boots on over his mismatching wool socks. “Merlin Potter give me a minute, I only just woke up, it’s hardly past the crack of dawn. I didn’t even get to have my tea properly before you started demanding we get a move on.” 

Harry smirked and watched Draco straighten up, run his fingers through his long blonde hair, his cheeks already pinking in the cold breeze of the early morning. 

“Come on, I’m just excited, and we have a lot of work to do. The patronus charm isn’t easy magic, and we’ll likely need long to practice.” He paused a moment, watching Draco intently. “Are you ready? Did you think of a place you wanted to take us?” Harry asked, Draco fumbling with his scarf and stomping rather pointedly across the thick layer of snow to where he stood, radiating warmth and calm and serenity. 

Draco furrowed his brow, but nodded, reaching for Harry’s hand, which he had held out to him. As they grasped each other, Draco turned on the spot and apparated them to the dry riverbed in the canyon where Draco had found the thestral cave. 

Harry had told him to choose somewhere he felt safe, and protected, somewhere he felt was all his own. Where he could focus in on himself. He didn’t know why he had never been able to produce the charm before, but he imagined it had something to do with the vulnerability of it. Accessing your memories, especially when you had such a precious few good ones, was a difficult task, and reaching down within yourself, dredging up the power of the memory, it was exposing. Raw. Shining a light into the dark usually was. 

Harry let Draco’s hand fall from his own as he hummed in appreciation of his choice - it was sheltered and quiet, still and so protected. Little snowflakes drifted down from the sliver of grey winter morning far above, just dusting the slate rock of carved earth. He walked a bit, taking in the dense trees high up on the granite bank at either side, finally turning back when he realised he wasn’t being followed. Draco hadn’t moved from the spot where they had appeared. 

His cheeks were red now in the cold, his lips pink and parted, accented with little puffs of steam marking his breaths. He was radiant. His nearly white hair and grey eyes, he looked princely, like something out of a fairy tale - snow dusting his shoulders as they regarded each other. 

Harry smiled against Draco’s obvious apprehension - he had already taken his Hawthorn wand from beneath his sweater, and he was nervously tapping his fingers against it. He was scared of what they would uncover. Harry knew. He had been scared too. But it was okay, for he also knew that Draco would be okay. He could do this. 

“Close your eyes.” Harry said into the expanse between them. His voice strong and full of reassurance. Of confidence. “Clear your mind.” 

Harry started walking back slowly toward Draco, watching him shake his shoulders out gently and lean his head back a bit, a small sigh falling from between his lips. He was beautiful, and Harry had to fight to keep his own mind clear, focused on the task at hand. Now was not the time for lust. Now was for trust, and refuge. 

“Feel your magic.” He said. “I know you can feel mine, now show me what yours is like. Describe it to me. Make me feel it.” 

Without opening his eyes, Draco cast a wordless warming charm, and Harry felt the gentle lapping of Draco’s magic against his skin, the distinct buzz and careful softness coating him in liquid warmth. He stepped forward into it, drinking it in. 

“It’s beautiful, like water, soft and careful. Your magic is life-giving.” Harry said softly, almost to himself. 

“Can you feel it? Between your fingers, in your palms, up your arm and into your chest? Can you feel it pooling there, filling you?” Harry said, watching Draco swallow, his adams apple clearly visible as he tipped his head back further, his pale face up to the grey sky. 

Draco brought his head back down and nodded slowly. His features were relaxed and calm, not a ripple of the usual anxiety, of the fear, of the tension. His breaths were deep and even, and Harry could feel the buzzing of his magic, strong and yet so serene, swirling around them. 

“Now, stay with your magic, but concentrate in your mind on a memory of joy. Something powerful and clear. Something that filled you with happiness. Something no one could ever take from you.” 

Harry stepped around to Draco’s right, watching him worry his lip slightly between his teeth, a line appearing between his brows. He was concentrating too hard, just as Harry had when he first tried. He was seeking, searching, happiness being such an unfamiliar place, a foreign land to them both. 

Finally, his features settled into staunch determination. 

“When you’re ready.” Harry said softly, watching Draco raise his wand in his left hand, intent on casting now, as though afraid to lose the resolve, the joy, the memory itself. 

Harry knew it wasn’t going to work before the incantation had left his lips, and he let Draco open his eyes to the empty space ahead of him, letting him see for himself that the thing he had clung so shakily to had not been enough. He needed to dig deeper. 

“Nothing.” Draco said softly, full of disappointment. 

“I couldn’t cast one for months. Don’t let it stop you from understanding why. What memory did you choose?” Harry said, trying to be kind, knowing the sting of the failed spell first hand. 

“The first time I flew on a broom. I was so young and father had given me one as a present for Christmas. It was a day just like this one, with the snow falling, but I couldn’t wait to try and I ran out onto the manor grounds and was up in the air, flying for hours.” Draco answered, his eyes unfocused and his mind far away, reliving the moments of freedom that he had equated with unbridled joy. 

Harry nodded, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth, remembering all of those years ago when, he too, had thought of flight. And, he too, had failed to produce a whisper of his father’s stag. 

“This is part of the process. That memory is happy, but is just the freedom of the air, of flight, something many of us find joyful. You need something of yourself. Something that has fed your soul. Has kept your blood warm in the darkest of nights. Something that has carried you.” 

Harry was trying to find a way to describe the life force that was required to form a corporeal patronus. It was as though he had to send it with a part of himself. A part that kept him alive. Harry had thought that this was why it had taken him so long to be able to do the spell while his magic was returning. For so long, he had only had so little to keep him going, he couldn’t spare any. He had held it too closely, for fear of it leaving him again. 

Draco looked down for some time before raising his head again and giving Harry a nod, signalling he was ready to try again. He wasn’t smiling, but Harry could see there was an air of the confident, capable Draco that ruled his professional life. 

Draco raised his wand arm again and his voice rang out clear into the cavern. _“Expecto patronum.”_

A thin wisp of silver smoke snaked from Draco’s wand tip and furled in on itself, winding around slowly, languidly. Draco’s face split into a soft smile, and he looked over to Harry, who couldn’t keep the grin off his face either. 

“That’s certainly better than I did on my second try, you show off.” Harry chided. 

“It’s more than I’ve ever been able to produce practicing on my own.” Draco said, his smile suddenly faltering. “But, it wasn’t enough to produce a corporeal one. What am I missing?” His over-analysing was back, as was the worrying of his lip and the drumming of his fingers. He was frustrated. 

“What memory did you use this time?” Harry asked, trying to refocus the spiraling thoughts. 

“The day I qualified as a Healer. It was the proudest moment of my life so far. I was finally able to say that I could do good with my life. That I could be proud of who I am.” 

Draco’s voice was unnaturally hard and cold, and Harry waited a moment before Draco continued on, sensing there was more to the memory. 

“Some idiot witch took it upon herself to spit in my face just after I had received my diploma and robes. I cried about it for hours when I got home.” The grey eyes that had been so soft and placid were steely and unforgiving. 

Harry nodded solemnly. He didn’t need to remind Draco why that memory hadn’t worked. It was tainted. It was full of the resentment and pain of being humiliated. 

“Try again.” Harry said softly, moving around behind Draco and sliding his left hand behind Draco’s wand arm, his magic simmering just below Draco’s, his fingers slipping around the exposed skin of Draco’s wrist. “Close your eyes.” He nearly whispered in Draco’s ear.

Harry raised Draco’s arm and felt him lean back slightly against his chest, his wand outstretched. Harry took a deep breath to clear his mind, closing his own eyes at the soft smell of mint and lavender, of sandalwood and yarn. He hadn’t been so close to Draco in ages, and it was pulling at him, igniting fires in him. 

“Focus.” He exhaled the word, breathy and soft in Draco’s ear, more to himself than anything. Harry felt the flames of his magic licking softly at Draco’s skin, everywhere it was exposed, the cold long forgotten, his face warm and flushed. Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes against the closeness, against the nakedness of the moment, how sinful and pleasurable it felt as Draco melted into him. 

He felt Draco tense for a moment and gather the incantation in his chest. _“Expecto patronum”_ fell from his lips as Harry mouthed the spell simultaneously, his eyes still closed and his head tucked against Draco’s scarf. He felt the beautiful warmth of the spell ripple through Draco’s outstretched arm and a soft wind swept around them, closely followed by a gasp. Draco’s. 

Harry opened his eyes to see the beautiful ghostly form of a thestral gambol away from them, wings outstretched and head high, nostrils flared in the novel glare of existence. They both watched the creature turn and stare at them, sides shuddering in a silent nicker. It was beautiful and wild, but different from his own - taller, more regal. It was stunning.

_“Expecto patronum.”_ Harry whispered, still leaning into Draco’s back, their magic fluttering around one another, suddenly timid, careful. 

His thestral leapt into existence and joined it’s fellow, shaking its head and wings as if having just rolled in the dust of the world behind the veil, stretching its nose out to nip at it’s consort playfully. The two beasts danced around each other, their sharp hooves leaving no prints in the perfect snow. 

In the trees around the crevasse, other thestrals silently watched the pair of ghostly shadows, and the snow continued to fall amongst the trees. The two men stood motionless, captivated, the only sounds their gentle breaths and the steady beating of their hearts. 

______________  
November 05, 2008

Harry was up as the sky was staining red in the East, the snow that had fallen in the night reflecting the sun’s first rays, glittering in the half light of the morning. He had his customary morning cup of tea and a chocolate rusk, moving about the cottage quietly, not keen to wake the sleeping dragon before the sun was higher in the sky. 

Draco had been in such a tempestuous mood since casting their patronuses together, he’d said nothing and apparated home without Harry, leaving him open mouthed, bewildered, standing in the snow at the bottom of the gorge. His elation at guiding Draco, teaching him, and seeing him succeed in something that had evaded him for so long was crushed by the other man’s enigmatic reaction - a moment he had been so keen to celebrate, for them to rejoice together. 

In the days that followed, he’d become so cold, aloof. Harry had taken to spending more time outside, leaving him to his work. He knew he was struggling with something, and he’d hopefully come to him when he was ready. Harry was happy to give him the space, but he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that he missed Draco. He missed their closeness. 

Harry didn’t have any plan for the day in particular, but he had taken a great liking to rising early and running a great loop around the Hollow, checking his wards and spellwork, greeting the forest dwellers who weren’t hiding away for winter, and spending the time to clear his mind properly. It helped him gain perspective. 

He slipped out into the bitter cold air, securing the cottage door behind him, his glasses instantly fogging up. Snow dusted the tops of the Wiggentree and its branches hung heavy with a sheet of ice. Harry hadn’t realised the ferocity of the storm they had the night before, and he rubbed his hands together and blew on them out of habit more than anything, jogging off across the clearing to the Western wood, his waterproofed trainers crunching in the fresh snow. 

He hadn’t gone more than a kilometer before he noticed something strange, just off the path ahead - a dark shape was jutting out of a snowbank at the base of a giant wych elm, waving erratically in the gusts of wind that snaked through the leave-less trees. He slowed to a walk and approached with caution, his magic sending tendrils out ahead of him to scan for signs of hidden dangers, yet nothing sinister appeared. 

As he got closer, Harry realised the dark shape was a large black and dark brown wing, feathers splayed and sticking up at odd angles, from a bird that must have fallen from the tree in the storm, and who had been unable to free itself from the snowbank properly. 

Harry knelt down and dug out the snow around the wing, not expecting to find the little creature alive, but wanting to at least lay it to rest somewhere less painfully exposed. To his great surprise, a feeble hoot was heard through the snow, and he dug faster, finally exposing the body of a little black owl with comically large pointed ear tufts on either side of it’s black feathered head. 

“Oh!” Harry said in alarm, completely taken aback that the owl was still alive, reaching down and gingerly lifting him up out of the snowbank. The birds eyes were closed and he didn’t seem to respond much to being touched. Harry furrowed his brow and decided at once he couldn’t leave him behind, with a wing that badly broken there’d be no chance of survival. 

The bird barely struggled as Harry swaddled him in his scarf and stuck him inside his jacket, trying to accommodate his bent wing without hurting the exhausted avian, who gave just one more little hoot as Harry stood to head back to the Hollow, a low and throaty call that filled Harry’s heart. 

“It’s ok little one, I’ve got you now.” He crooned softly as he hurried back down the path. He was already running through a mental checklist of what Hagrid would do. Step one, reignite the fire that had burnt low during the night, step two let the little guy warm up on his own a bit and get some kind of split on the wing that he’d reset. Harry silently hoped episkey would be good enough, as he didn’t know any more specific healing spells for animals. Step three, convince Draco this wasn’t a terrible idea and the cabin could fit one more just fine, that it’d be good for them, for Harry, to have some company. Step four, food. He’d have to write the house elves for raw chicken and owl treats as soon as he got back. 

Harry sighed and smiled a bit as he felt the little owl squirm against his chest. Movement was a good thing, he thought to himself. 

“Just a little further and I’ll get you inside where it’s warm and we can find something to eat, little dipper.” Harry laughed to himself, having already decided this would have to be his name. The little dipper. It was a constellation, and he was black. Draco couldn’t argue. Not with that. He was already family. 

The answering hoot seemed agreeable enough, and Harry grinned as he stepped into Tenebris Hollow, hurrying up to their front door and stomping the extra snow off his shoes before pushing open the wooden door with his shoulder, his hands busy cradling the little owl in the front of his jacket.


	19. A Cauldron, Simmering

A Cauldron, Simmering  
November 11, 2008

“…to Malfoy. Hello. Earth to Malfoy.” Draco was startled out of his blank staring at his notes by Harry’s hand waving in front of his face.

“What?” He asked, feeling incredibly distracted and snappish. His throat felt scratchy from days of disuse.

“I asked if you wanted tea.” Harry asked seeming flustered, cautious, like he was approaching a dangerous animal. “I’ve only been calling your name for the last five minutes. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He answered in a clipped tone. “And no, thank you.” He righted himself and began scratching notes without looking at Harry. He had been in a foul mood ever since he had cast his patronus and he had taken it out on Harry by being withdrawn, cold, and moody.

He was still in shock from seeing a great silver leathery winged horse staring back at him. It was a spell he never thought he was capable of accomplishing. His first feeling was of pride, it swelled in him like a rising tide of goodness. She was beautiful afterall. Taller and regal. And he had created her. 

Not only that, but he and Harry had matching patronuses. For the love of Salazar. The thought made him dizzy and caused his stomach to roil in waves of nausea. Replacing his pride with terror. Draco was practically screaming on the inside. His internal boggart had never been so happy. Ever since he saw their two thestrals standing next to one another in the dim light of the gorge with Harry’s warmth pressed against his back, Draco had been experiencing a low level of internalized panic that Harry couldn’t seem to untangle him from.

Of course, Harry didn’t know what this meant. The completely oblivious twit. 

“Alright then.” Harry sighed, walking back to the kitchen. He had been trying to pull Draco out of his black-hole for days, to no avail. The stupid handsome git. Why was he so nice? It was infuriating.

The poor bastard didn’t know what Draco knew. Harry didn’t realize that the only people whose patronuses matched or changed in the way that Harry’s did were soul mates, or deeply in love. The thought made Draco want to peel his skin off and run screaming. How could what Draco felt be considered love? And how could Harry even have the potential to feel that way in return?

None of this made sense. He had the hots for Potter, that wasn’t love. 

Right?

Harry had seemed so proud of Draco, so happy, so assured, so strong and solid. But the sad sod didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know it meant he was apparently falling for a broken mess of a man who would never be able to fulfill his own needs, let alone Harry’s. Draco couldn’t be that person for Harry. He didn’t know how. The thought made his heart pound and adrenaline flood his veins. He had puked three times this week from sheer nerves.

Sitting, hunched over his research, he heard Harry moving around the cottage tending to his sodding owl. Draco refused to look up or engage at all. He had been giving Harry a wide berth since the patronus incident because he couldn’t allow their closeness and obvious draw to one another come to anything. If he just kept his distance, resisted Harry’s easy presence, no matter how fucking good he looked or kind he was, even crooning over an injured owl, then Harry would eventually realize that there could never be anything between them and Draco would be able to breathe again. 

Draco felt so terrified by what their patronuses meant, by what that meant about Harry’s feelings towards him. He was already filled with a sense of weighted dread by the memory he had used to produce the patronus. When Harry first prompted him to pull his happiest memory he immediately thought of one hundred different memories he had made in the last few months with Harry. He had instantly chastised himself for the foolishness of wanting to use one of those memories. Surely, he could think of something joyous on his one. Something without Harry. 

So, he thought of flying. Which clearly didn’t work. 

Then, he thought of graduating as a Healer. That was also a failure. And, Harry was right. Every single joyous memory he pulled from the depths of his mind was tainted in some way. Blemished by the war, by his parents, by his own stupidity and shame. He couldn’t find anything that filled him or kept his blood warm on the darkest of days like Harry said. 

Until, that is, he thought of Harry himself. Before casting that third time, he allowed his mind to see the simple domesticity they had cultivated together, and before he knew it he was being flooded with all of the joy and struggle they had experienced in their time in the forest. It was shocking and overwhelming how visceral and emotive those memories were to him. 

He had raised his wand and allowed the memory of Harry comforting him after his nightmare to rise to the surface. Filling his heart and his soul with a feeling of contented acceptance and security. Even if the circumstance wasn’t romantic, it held the profound feeling of being safe and loved. And, although that memory wasn’t particularly joyous, it was overwhelmingly positive. A testament to how far Draco had progressed in overcoming his fear of closeness, of letting others in. He had asked for comfort and received it, without judgement. After he let the memory fill him and warm him down to his very bones, the thestral flew easily from within him and out through his wand.

As soon as it appeared in front of him, his exuberance and joy melted into self deprecating shame. He felt like a sinking rock in water. He was fucked. So unequivocally fucked. How did he let this happen?

He shook himself. He couldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t stand to think about it any longer. He had been ruminating over the same terrifying thoughts for a week. He needed to focus. He needed to get back to work. He needed to get through this potion proof for his letter to the Department of Mysteries. 

At least work was still safe. Calculated, controlled, and measured. Work was an existential crisis he could cope with. Not the burgeoning affection he held for someone who didn’t fucking know any better. He scanned the long list of ingredients and brewing instructions before reevaluating his word choice for the theory. 

_“…universal application for reversal of damage done by unforgivables and blood curses; namely the cruciatis, imperius, blood curdling curses…”_

He nodded along with the phrasing and looked for places to edit.

_“...theorized efficacy for reversal of psychic damage caused by dark magic…”_

Yes, yes, he thought. That was all good. All in order.

His eyes lifted to look at the row of four bottled potions. Each containing a deep velvety liquid of royal purple. Each labeled with the specific ingredient it was testing. All of them were blood cleansing potions, but he had made them with either tail hair, mane hair, saliva, or blood. He was planning to send samples with his research to the Department of Mysteries, along with a few theory papers on other potions he thought he could make. 

His final page of his dissertation were the other conundrums of the thestrals he was hoping to unravel with the help of the DoM. Such as, why they seemed so keen on Draco, specifically when he couldn’t get near a unicorn to save his life. Why the unicorn blood reacted so poorly to contact with Draco, but the thestral blood seem to have the opposite effect. And finally, how Draco seem to be able to create these efficacious potions when none of the research literature seemed to hold any information on the usage or efficacy of thestral ingredients to begin with. 

Draco stretched and cracked his tense back, he knew he would be here with his paperwork for a while. Good, he thought sourly. He needed all of the distraction he could get. 

____________  
November 17th, 2008

It was the early hours of the morning, still dark outside, but the last of the birds that hadn’t yet migrated had begun to sing their chilly morning song. Draco moved quietly about the cottage, trying not to wake Harry, as he made himself tea and mentally prepared himself to finally stop being a complete twat to him. It wasn’t his fault, and they needed to maintain civility if these last few months weren’t going to be miserable. 

And, he missed Harry. Missed their easy conversations, missed their closeness. It wasn’t Harry’s fault they had the same patronus. 

Draco had an appointment booked with Beatrice in a few days time. He was going to actually leave the forest and go back out into the world outside Hogwarts and the forest for the first time since March. He felt nervous and apprehensive. And he still hadn’t discussed things with Harry, since he had been ignoring him, or being outright rude all week. He felt unaccountably uncertain about telling him, and he wasn’t really sure why. Probably because, in order to talk to him, he would have to apologize for being a complete berk. 

He took his tea, crept over to his bench and sat down, pulling his research and letter to the Department of Mysteries towards him to study as he sipped his tea and waited for the sun to rise above the horizon. He needed to send his research off soon, but as with his uncertainty of sharing more of himself with Harry, so too was he uncertain of sharing his research with others. 

He wanted to keep these pieces of himself to himself. To contain them, and hold them. Letting them out, to others, to the world, felt like it would leave him empty and exposed. Unsafe. 

He sighed and dropped his head on the table, feeling a little overwhelmed and a bit lost. His inner boggart dancing to a familiar tune.

After a few deep breaths, Draco lifted his head and reached blearily across the desk to his corner of stationary to fish out a few post-it notes. He didn’t make them every day, and he only made them when Harry wasn’t around or sleeping, but he had kept up his homework, filling the inside of one of the kitchen cupboards and spilling into another. He was certain that Harry had seen them, though he never mentioned them. 

_Your needs are valid._ He scratched onto a pink post-it. 

_Dishonesty helps no one._ He scribbled onto a green one. 

_Your integrity allows others to see you as you are and not as you were._ He wrote on a final blue square. 

Feeling a little better, he got up and walked to the kitchen, his thick handmade socks muffling the sounds of his feet on the floor boards. As he stuck 2 of the post-its on the inside of the cabinet, which was now beginning to resemble some sort of inside out pinata, he heard the tell-tale signs of Harry stirring in his bunk. 

Quickly folding and stowing the pink post-it in his pocket, he closed the cupboard and began to set about making breakfast. He silently hoped that talking to Harry would be easier over a full english and a large pot of tea. 

_____________

“So,” Harry began, chewing his toast thoughtfully, “you need to go see your therapist, but you want to tell her about me?” His expression was… concerned? offended? confused?

“Not by name.” Draco corrected quickly, feeling so very flustered. 

Harry had woken up as Draco was starting breakfast and offered to help. He probably expected to be shot down as he had been every time he offered to help Draco over the last week, and seemed elated when Draco accepted. Much to Draco’s dismay, and exhilaration, they ended up dancing around one another in the small kitchen the entire time. 

Harry placing a gentle hand at Draco’s back when he had to scoot past with a plate. Draco gently nudging Harry with his elbow when he needed to reach over to the stove for the bacon. The dance went on and on, and each time they grazed hands or make unexpected eye contact, the bottom fell out of Draco’s stomach. He was already regretting being nice to Harry. 

Draco was now grateful to be sitting down, but he felt that his grip on his cool mask of indifference was tenuous and strained. 

“Okay.” Said Harry slowly. “I don’t quite get why you’re so nervous if all you want to do is talk to your therapist about having a flat-mate.” He looked speculatively at Draco. “Unless, I’m doing something horribly offensive that you haven’t told me? Is that why you’ve been so tetchy?”

Draco felt embarrassment and shame rising in his chest at the insinuation that it was Harry’s fault Draco had been a complete asskettle. 

“No, no!” Draco said. “Nothing like that.” He sighed and slumped forward, running his hands through his too long fringe. “It’s just. She’s under the impression that I’ve been out here all these long months in near total isolation and she’s worried that that’s having a negative impact on me. And the things I need to discuss with her are the exact opposite of isolation, so I’ll have to tell her I haven’t been alone. And I just wanted to talk to you about it because this is supposed to be a your place of refuge as well and I didn’t think it was fair to out you, even if not by name, without discussing it with you first. Do you see?”

“So the things you need to discuss are specifically related to not living in isolation?” Harry asked, his tone falsely light. 

“I suppose you could say that, yes.” Draco confirmed, reluctantly. 

“So are you going to talk to your therapist about how my snoring keeps you up at night? Or how about how casting a patronus sunk you into a deep depression for a week?” He teased, but there was a tenseness in his face. 

“Potter.” He said softly. “Things have arisen for me, as I feel they inevitably would with two people sharing close living quarters, and it’s not because of you. You’ve done nothing wrong. But, I have a lot of shit to work through and your presence has kind of expedited that process. So, really, it’s a good thing.” Draco tried to reassure.

Harry looked dour. “It’s a good thing that being around me makes you need to see your therapist?” his voice dripping with unamused disbelief.

“I feel like you’re missing the point here.” Draco sighed, feeling bad that Harry was feeling bad. 

“I feel like I am too.” Harry ceded, smiling awkwardly at Draco. 

Draco took a deep breath. “Living with you has been really good for me.” He pushed it out before he lost his nerve. “Really good, actually.” He wasn’t looking at Harry but rather looking intensely at a crack in the kitchen table. 

“And it’s also been… enlightening … about a lot of things.” He finally looked up to see Harry’s green eyes boring into him with that intensity that made his knees week and his throat scratchy. “And it’s these things that I need to discuss with my therapist. Not your snoring habits. And maybe the patronus.” He smiled weakly, trying to break the intensity of Harry’s gaze. “But I just wanted you to be okay with the fact that I have to out your presence to her.”

Harry didn’t answer right away, but his eyes softened as he studied Draco’s face with that same intensity. “Do what you need to do, Malfoy. Don’t feel bad about outing me.” he gave Draco a smile that could only be described as sweet, which made Draco want to flip the table and run.

“Are you going to tell me why exactly you’ve been so thoroughly displeased as of late? I still don’t understand why you were so mad about your patronus.” Harry was speaking softly and cautiously, as if Draco might lash out at any moment. Which, to be fair, wasn’t off the mark for his behavior of late. Draco cringed inwardly at himself.

Draco leaned back and crossed his arms, tipping his head back to the ceiling to look at the dried herbs dangling above him. How the fuck was he going to answer that? He couldn’t just outright tell Potter what that meant, that would be a disaster. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Harry said offhandedly, feigning disinterest, as he gave an almighty yawn and stretched his arms over his head, revealing a trail of dark hair down towards… 

Draco could feel his face turning pink and warm and hoped Harry was too self involved in his basically erotic stretching at the kitchen table to notice Draco’s odd expression and unfortunate tinge. 

Pointedly not looking at Harry he finally asked. “How much do you know about patronuses, Potter? Specifically those that change or those that match with someone else’s?” He was using his clinical voice again, but his insides told a different story. 

Harry stopped his languid stretching to look carefully at Draco. “Are you mad our patronuses match?” His voice was even but he sounded… hurt.

He sighed heavily and raked his fingers through his hair with more force than was necessary. “No, Potter, I’m not mad they match.” He said without looking at him. 

“Then what is it? Why have you been so pissed with me? What did I do? Because I would like to fix it so we can go back to enjoying one another’s company, if you don’t mind.” Harry asked, his voice was hard but his gaze was imploring. 

Draco looked back at him, trying to figure out how to even start. “So, I take it you don’t know anything about patronuses that change.” Draco tried again. 

Harry just looked at him with bewildered irritation clear on his face. “I mean,” he started, “I know Tonks’ patronus changed to match Lupin’s werewolf form.” He was waving his hand and looking around him as if the answer must be dangling in front of his face but he just couldn’t see it.

“Anything else?” Draco asked. He could feel it. They were right there. 

“And the only time I’ve ever heard of matching patronuses was Snape’s and my mum’s. I mean my mum had a doe and my dad had a stag so I guess that’s also kind of matching. But, Snape had a doe just the same as my mum.” He was staring off out the kitchen window with a furrowed brow as if solving an intense mathematical equation in his mind. 

“Mhmm.” Draco agreed. They were so close. Soon the penny would drop, and it would be out there in the space between them. The point of no return. 

“Honestly, Draco, I thought it was because we were both touched by death and brought back against our will. I thought they were claiming us. I didn’t think it had anything to do with…”

Harry’s gaze idly found its way back to Draco’s and for a long moment he just stared confusedly into Draco’s eyes. The green questioning the silver. Draco could practically hear the cogs working in Harry’s mind as the pieces slid into place. The little owl on the other side of the cottage hooted softly in its sleep. 

Harry’s look of pensive confusion changed into one of wide eyed bewilderment and dawning realization as they continued to stare back at Draco, and Draco tried his damnedest not to panic and run. 

After what felt like a searing eternity in the 9th layer of hell, Draco’s bravery and resolve broke. He stood abruptly and began clearing their plates.

“Are you going to be okay on your own for another whole day when I see Beatrice?” He croaked out. “Since I’ll be out in the real world I thought I would do some Christmas shopping and errand running.” Draco’s tone was one of false nonchalance and he avoided looking at Harry. He could feel his face was so, so red.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Harry said, his voice scratchy and filled with an equal measure of false normalcy. He wasn’t looking at Draco either, but Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that his face was equally as scarlet. 

“Good. That’s settled then. I have to get back to my research.” He said before abandoning the plates at the sink and bounding off to bury himself in paperwork, pointedly not looking in Harry’s direction.

The silence and tension in the cottage could have been cut with a knife that evening.

_______________  
November 21st, 2008

Harry and Draco had slipped back into the stiff politeness of their early weeks together at the Hollow. Neither wanting to address the the giant proverbial glowing thestral in the room. They didn’t acknowledge their conversation, or whatever epiphanies may or may not have happened as a result. Their conversations were short and impersonal, and they avoided eye contact like the other was a giant basilisk. 

Finally, the day of Draco’s appointment with Beatrice arrived, and he bid Harry a curt farewell before disapparating to an alley around the corner from her office. He ran his fingers through his hair and realized he must look like a rogue forest dweller with his long fringe and scruffy face. Since he had an hour before his appointment he decided to pay his barber a quick visit. 

His hair now significantly shorter, he strolled up the walk to Beatrice’s office and prepared himself for what he was sure to be one hell of an appointment. 

_______________________

Draco apparated back to the hollow just after dark, ladened with shopping bags for christmas, some new yarn and knitting needles, and a few snacks they couldn’t procure from the house elves. He felt lighter after his appointment, but nervous about the conversation he was about to have. Beatrice reminded him that open and clear communications about emotions and feelings were an important skill, no matter how uncomfortable. Damn that woman, he thought, feeling so grateful to have her as a resource. 

He could smell something delicious coming from the cottage as he walked up the steps and pushed open the door. He was met with the incredibly pleasant and disarming sight of Harry Potter wearing a floral print apron standing over a steaming pot, his hair looking ludicrous in a disheveled bun, as he turned, wooden spoon in hand, to greet Draco. 

“Hi. Oh.” He said in surprise. “You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” Draco said as he came in and dropped his bags by the table. The owl hooted at Draco and he shot it a small and affectionate smile. This was a bad idea, Draco thought, he should definitely leave and never come back. 

“It looks nice.” Harry said, returning to his cooking after looking him up and down in a way that made Draco so very nervous. 

“Thank you. It smells great in here.” Draco said, trying not to let on how awkward and freaked out he felt. 

“Thanks, it’ll be ready soon.” He said turning to look back at Draco. He must have seen how pale Draco felt, or sensed his tension because he asked “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Draco said out of habit. “I mean, no. Not really.” He sighed and came to slump in the kitchen chair. “We need to talk.”

Harry seemed simultaneously relieved and alarmed by the admission. “Yeah, okay.” He said. “Let me just finish this up.”

“Do you need some help?” Draco offered. 

“Just grab the plates, please?” Harry asked. 

After they settled down with huge plates of spaghetti and meatballs, Harry looked tentatively over at Draco and asked, “So, what did you want to talk about?” even though Draco was sure Harry already knew. 

“Well, as you know, I had therapy today.” Draco said, focusing on winding his pasta onto his fork with extreme intensity. 

“Mhmm.” Harry said cautiously.

Draco seemed to steel himself. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this to Harry. Dear god, someone save him. 

“…It appears. I mean. See, you know… oh god.” Draco brought his head down and laid it on the table next to his plate of food. 

Harry didn’t say anything and Draco couldn’t decide if he was relieved for the space or desperate for Harry to break the silence. 

With his head still on the table he mumbled “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You can’t believe whats happening?” Harry asked, sounding concerned.

Draco finally picked his face up off the table and looked at Harry. He knew he was beetroot red, he knew his hair probably looked a right mess, even with its new shortness, and he knew he had no hope of reclaiming his mask of cool collected Healer Malfoy. Vulnerability is okay, he reminded himself. You can trust Harry, just say it. Just say the words. 

Harry looked expectantly at Draco with worried eyes and a creased brow. 

“After a rather enlightening conversation with my therapist. It seems that I have… I’ve… Well.” He paused again, swallowing nervously, and unable to look away from those eyes. “Remember when I said that sometimes things inevitably come up when two people live in isolation together like this?”

Harry nodded, his expression of worry unchanging.

“Because we’ve been living in isolation. And because we’re both people in our own forms of recovery and we can identify with one another, and well, we’re both gay.” He said, his face feeling impossibly warmer. 

“Well, it seems that I’ve developed… feelings.” He said, feeling horrified with himself. This was worse than the 9th layer of hell. “For you.” He added, redundantly. 

Harry just looked completely shocked. “Is that why you’ve been completely unreasonable for days? Because you have... feelings for me?” 

Draco nodded, wanting to light himself on fire. His boggart would never forget this day. 

He finally looked away, not being able to stand the searing heat of Harry’s gaze. “And, I think that’s happened because of the intensity of our circumstance and forced proximity.”

“Forced proximity?” Harry echoed. “Is this really forced?”

“You know what I mean, Potter. It means we’re with each other 24/7 without outside influence and we’re entirely reliant on one another for all our social and emotional needs.” Draco finally looked back up to see that Harry’s gaze hadn’t left and was boring into him. 

“And you think that means that these feelings we have aren’t valid?” Harry asked carefully, cautiously. 

Did Harry just say we? No, he couldn’t have. 

“It means that it would be unhealthy to pursue them because this environment is unrealistic and cosseted. This isn’t real life. This is…” He threw his hands up in surrender, casting about for something to say to show Harry how unreal and unfair this was for both of them.

“…a fairy tale.” Harry finished for him, looking sad. 

“Yes.” Draco said, feeling just as sad as Harry looked. “It’s a fairy tale. And you only just figured out you were gay, what, two months ago, and you’re only going on nine months sober, and I’m a wreck and incapable of being close with someone without constantly panicking. If we did anything about how we feel, it would be unfair to the both of us.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he just searched Draco’s face.

“You deserve someone who isn’t as broken as me, Harry. And I deserve not to be an experiment in sexuality.” 

Harry nodded, looking defeated, his gaze finally falling down to the kitchen table. 

“So, then, I wasn’t imagining all those times I thought you were checking me out?” Harry huffed, with a self deprecating smile, trying to inject a bit of humor into this thoroughly depressing conversation. 

Draco could feel the heat rising in his face again, his palms sweaty, his heart aching, and his stomach swooping pleasantly. He could feel the pull between them, holding Harry’s gaze, his lips quirking into a smile of their own accord. “No, I suppose you didn’t imagine it.” Draco said softly. 

In that moment, looking across their tiny table into Harry’s eyes he felt the overwhelming desire to retract everything he had just said and succumb to the relentless pull he felt. The tension between them was palpable and he could feel their magic reaching out to one another, desperate for contact, for relief. It was finally out in the open and they both knew how the other felt, and yet...

“We can’t.” Draco said quietly into the silence, in response to their magic twining around them, it was like his new mantra he was chanting inside his head to keep him on track. To keep him strong. 

“You don’t have to be so afraid of this.” Harry offered back, almost whispering. “I wouldn’t ever do anything you’re not comfortable with. That’s not what my feelings for you are like. I can go slow.”

Oh dear god, Harry really did feel the same way. 

“Can we just pretend this isn’t happening?” Draco asked, it was a plea, and it sounded desperate. 

Harry must have picked up the desperation in his tone and he reached across the table towards Draco’s hand to console him and Draco felt a thrill of fear run through him at the thought of touching Harry. If Harry touched him, he wouldn’t be able to maintain his defenses, he wouldn’t be able to hold his resolve. It would be too much for his crumbling walls. He processed this all in a fraction of a second, before he could think to react and remove his hand from Harry’s reach. But when Harry’s hand finally met his and their skin brushed, Harry pulled his hand back with a startling yelp of pain. 

“Ah, fuck!” Harry shouted, holding and rubbing his afflicted hand, and looking at Draco in surprise. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” 

Draco didn’t know what to say. He felt relieved Harry hadn’t touched him, but also terrible that the fact that he didn’t want to be touched was so obvious that his talisman reacted and shocked Harry for the first time since he had given it to him. “I’m sorry.” Draco said, feeling even worse now. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Harry said, much louder now. “That’s why I gave it to you. If you don’t want to be touched then you shouldn’t be, and I’m sorry I tried to touch you without your permission. But, I’m really glad to see it works.” He gave such a sweet smile that Draco felt he might burst into tears. This was a nightmare. How could he be so happy for Draco, so happy that he had gotten shocked for trying to touch him. 

“Like I said, I wouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. And not just because of the talisman. If you don’t think our feelings are genuine or that they’re coerced by circumstance, then I understand. But, can we please still be friends? I value you too much to just ignore you for the foreseeable future. And, though you might think these romantic feelings aren’t valid, I think our friendship, at the very least, is.” 

Harry’s face was full of that unwavering determination that was so characteristic of their Hogwarts days, of the years of struggle and the build up to the war. It made Draco’s heart hurt in a bittersweet way to see it, but relief flooded through him to hear that Harry still wanted to make their friendship to work. 

“I’d like that.” Draco said with a soft smile, after a considerable silence, full of deliberation. Harry was right. They could be friends. 

_____________  
November 26, 2008

Draco had finally, finally put the finishing touches on his dissertation. Two days after their talk, and things were falling back into a more normal rhythm. Harry was a little more quiet than usual, and spent more time outside, but they were slowly melting back into their routine. The next day, Draco had felt so distracted by how Harry had looked at him across the table that he hadn’t realized he made a significant spelling error throughout his edits. 

He had been on the edge of a nervous breakdown when Harry walked in and saw the horror etched on Draco’s pointy face. When he asked what the problem was and Draco told him that he had stupidly misspelled alchemical as alchemicle without thinking, Harry just smiled and began reading through every page of Draco’s dissertation and tapping the misspelled words to correct them. That beautiful bastard had saved him hours of panicking, and he was so grateful just to be able to just exist near him. 

Now, he was binding his research, making copies and preparing his samples for transport to the DoM. He had wavered for nearly three days as to whether he should include his 5th potion and theory. It wasn’t as complete as the others, and it wasn’t in his speciality of blood curses, but he had a good feeling and hoped whoever tested his samples could give him some decent feedback for improvements. He had recommended a specific case study to the DoM if the potion proved to be safe and effective. 

He took a deep breath, shaking the apprehension from his shoulders, and sliding his dissertation into the box with his potions. He carefully lettered the box for the DoM research division and walked it over to the corner of the kitchen, where he placed it into the magical cupboard for the house elves to deliver for him. 

He stared at it, feeling terrified and elated, before finally closing the cupboard and sending this piece of himself out into the world. 

“I’m really proud of you.” He heard Harry say softly from directly behind him. He hadn’t heard him approaching. 

Draco righted himself and turned to face Harry. The anxiety of the months prior leaving his body, a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. The sight of Harry’s kind eyes and warm smile and obvious pride in Draco’s work overwhelmed him, and in a moment of weakness he reached out and pulled Harry towards him, his hands around his waist and his face buried in his shoulder. 

Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him close, but not tight. Earnestly, but not possessively. He smelled like the forest and of clean air, of worn leather and wood shavings, and it felt so good. It was safe, and warm and everything he wanted, for months now. But it was dangerous territory. And this sense of calming closeness, this intimacy, was too scary to hold on to for too long.

“Thank you.” Draco whispered against Harry’s chest, before releasing him and walking out of the kitchen.


	20. Christmas Eve in Tenebris Hollow

Christmas Eve in Tenebris Hollow  
December 21, 2008

Harry had hiked all morning to find the right tree. A proper conifer. Tall enough to reach up into the rafters of their little home, thick at the base with plenty of space for tinsel and lights, and fragrant, like Christmas should be. Harry had always loved the smell of fir trees - the Dursleys had always had a fake plastic Christmas tree, that Harry of course was in charge of setting up, but never touching again. His first memory of a proper smelling Christmas had been his first winter holiday he stayed at Hogwarts, the infusion of cheer and joy and his first memories of what family felt like were all deeply soaked in the aroma of fir, and fire, and treacle tart. 

He had trekked North, past the base of the mountain he had summited months ago, a place he routinely returned on afternoons he wanted to be alone. He had followed a frozen stream around to the North-East and came across a thick stand of fir trees on the shadowed slopes on the far side of the forest. He had brought an axe, because he wanted to do it by hand, as an homage to the tree. Cutting it down by magic felt too easy, and he relished in the sweat of the labour. Work he had become used to in his early days, when he had to chop all of their firewood by hand. His back was tight and his arms heavy with the exertion by the time the tree fell, but his reddened cheeks were accompanied by a smile, and the pride of finding the perfect tree for their Christmas together. 

Harry vanished the tree to the snow covered clearing outside their cottage before apparating there himself, ignoring the butterflies that had appeared in his stomach at the idea that he wanted Draco to be impressed by the tree he had found. He wanted Draco to know he’d cut it down for them both, that he wanted Christmas to be special for them both. He wanted Draco to feel full of the same joy and cheer, to feel full of love. 

Harry stopped himself in the middle of sawing away one of the lower branches of the tree in an effort to clean up a section of lower trunk and make space for presents beneath it. He wanted Draco to feel loved. 

The thought made his chest feel tight and he sat back on his knees a moment. Was it normal? Was it normal to want your friends to feel loved? He wanted Ron and Hermione to feel loved. Was it the same? Ever since their talk where Draco had returned to therapy and let Harry know that whatever was going on between them was tainted by circumstance, not real, just a product of their isolation together, Harry had been avoiding thinking about it. He felt panicked when he looked at Draco now, as if he couldn’t trust his own feelings, his gnawing desires. Was he still gay, then? Was he still attracted to him? Was everything in the forest just a mirage? 

He scrubbed his face in his hands, feeling overwhelmed. Defeated, even. He knew what he wanted. He did. He wanted Draco. It was painful how much he wanted him. Every second of the day, every stolen glance and soft sigh from his lips, every languid detail of him. He wanted serious Healer Draco, grimacing over his cauldron just as much as he wanted the Draco who knitted in bed and wore his own handmade mismatching wool socks. The Draco that read french bedtime stories to himself and loved to laugh as much as he loved to be kind. The Draco who had gardened in the summer months, who pepper their ceiling in hanging herbs and who had taught him the beauty of tending carefully cultivated life. The Draco who had planted a tree with him, who had held him. The Draco that had hugged him, had pulled him close, who had felt so perfect against him.

Harry’s tight chest gave way to a dull ache. Draco had to be wrong. This was real. It had to be real. It was too painful to be chance happenstance, too consuming. 

It wasn’t just the cottage in the forest, and isolation and their searing vulnerability. It wasn’t just that Draco had saved him and Harry had kept him safe right back. 

Harry closed his eyes, his jaw set tight. These feelings had been brewing for ages. It had always been Draco. The two of them had revolved around each other since their first meeting. Harry, bright and bold and firey, and Draco, cold and dangerous like deep water, like you could drown in him. 

They were the sun and the moon, opposing forces, pushing and pulling, but never taking their focus off one another. 

The forest had given them the space to see that they were both cut from the same stone, made of the same earth, in need of the same things. They had pushed back against death, both of them, they had survived and they had reclaimed their lives. They had been reclaimed, in turn, by the thestrals. The forest had given Harry clarity, not confusion. Strength, not weakness. Draco was wrong, and Harry was sure. What he felt was real.

For now though, Harry realised sadly, he’d have to rein himself in. He’d give Draco his space. That painful shock he’d received was enough to remind him that he couldn’t be caught up in the fervor and forget that his autonomy and his sense of safety would always take precedence. He could wait. He could bide his time. He knew what they had was worth it. 

Harry stood and levitated the tree, shrinking it and carrying it into the cabin easily, then restoring it to its original size, propped up with charms meant to hold until New Year’s. It took up nearly all the space they had, crowding the kitchen table and their beds, but it smelled incredible, and filled Harry with a sense of holiday cheer and the feeling that not all was lost. Draco needed time. He needed space. He needed the ability to decide for himself that what he had with Harry was okay, that it would be good. And Harry could take this time to show him that it would be. He wouldn’t rush him. 

He passed the afternoon stringing up popcorn and bits of tinsel, transfiguring the tips of the branches into ornaments - little reminders of their time in the forest together - an otter, a little thestral foal, carrots from their garden, a little wiggentree. He spent the whole time narrating his thoughts to Little Dipper, who was happily napping on his perch in the corner by the fire, wing long since healed, but too content with his lodgings to be bothered with leaving the cottage hearth, especially during the daytime. 

Harry was grinning like an idiot to himself, humming Christmas carols, by the time Draco finally came in from the cold, shaking off snow from his boots. 

“This is lovely.” He said, and Harry could see he was trying hard to be kind. To be nice without being sweet. Soft, without being open.

“Mmm.” Harry agreed. “Come help me with the rest of the ornaments.” 

Draco walked over and took stock of the little figures Harry had been transfiguring, his smile lighting up his whole face. He grabbed a branch and transformed the end into a little cauldron, bubbling and hiccuping steam. The next he made into a rather haughty and irritable looking unicorn. Harry laughed openly at this, looking down at the branch he was busy with. A little Welsh Green appeared, coiling around the little fir needles, tail whipping back and forth. 

Draco looked over and smirked. He reached over and grabbed the branch next to the little dragon to transform the end to a little sleeping lion, yawning and stretching, occasionally snoring. 

They laughed together and Harry felt the warmth of the man pooling inside him, as though his presence was enough to sustain him, to fuel him. It was the thing that would keep his heart beating in the darkest of nights. 

The two of them bumped shoulders as they worked, not needing to say anything, but both happy in each other’s company. 

Later that evening, Harry was folding up brown packaging paper around his present for Rose, giving Little Dipper a pep talk about how to deliver a package, having no idea if he understood or not, but trusting the little bird nonetheless. He’d sent him on a few test deliveries (to Draco while he was out and about in the forest, mostly, but a few to Hermione) and he’d done perfectly well so far. He seemed keen to repay Harry for his kindness, and the little black owl was tilting his head this way and that at the large and rather cumbersome package Harry was wrapping. 

“Now Dipper, we’ve talked about this, but you need to fly straight to the Granger-Weasleys. No stopovers, no dilly dallying, no nonsense. This package must get there by Christmas.” The bird nibbled Harry’s thumb and forefinger cheekily, ruffling his feathers. 

Harry sighed and smiled down at his gift. He was so pleased with how it had turned out. After one of their winter storms, Harry had gone outside to find the Wiggentree had lost one of its main branches, a nice and straight one that was too slim for carving figures, but he had held on to it anyway, storing it above the rafters to dry out a bit. One evening, he’d looked up to it, worrying over what he could possibly give to Rose for Christmas, and just knew he’d found the perfect solution.

His hands were sore from all of the frantic carving, but Harry had just finished the broomhandle in time. He’d added twigs from the same branch for the bristles, demanding Draco help him seek out the straightest, most perfect ones he could find. 

Wiggentree wasn’t a proper wood for racing brooms and speciality flying, and the little broom only hovered slightly off the ground, but it would keep her safe, and that’s what mattered most. He added extra enchantments for balance and smooth motions, even some cushioning charms to help if she did ever fall, the wood being exceptional for holding spells - drinking his magic in easily. 

He was proud of it, when he finished. It was a gift of love, and he knew that it would be a gift for both Ron and Hermione too, equal parts fun and safe. They’d be delighted. Harry was only a little envious he wouldn’t be there to see her putter around on it for the first time. 

Harry scribbled a little note on parchment to accompany the package:

_For Rose, from our wiggentree. Merry Christmas. Love to you all._  
_\- Harry_

Harry rolled up the parchment and attached it to Little Dipper’s outstretched leg, along with bits of twine to hold up the rather cumbersome package. But the owl hooted happily and hopped to the window, taking off and supporting the child sized broom with no problem as he flew off into the night, headed South. 

Harry realised too late that he had said ‘our’ and not ‘my’. He swore to himself, but smiled all the same. Hopefully, Hermione wouldn’t ask too many questions. 

_______________  
December 24, 2008

“Hey Malfoy, you awake?” Harry whispered into the darkness. He had cast a tempus and it was 11:55 pm, Christmas eve. They had gone to sleep early, but Harry hadn’t been able to get comfortable. He felt full of feelings, full of things he wanted to discuss, full of jitters and he didn’t know exactly why. 

“Mhm.” Came the soft reply below him. “Can’t sleep.” 

“Me either.” Harry said, rolling to his side and hanging his head down over the edge of the bed, barely able to make out Draco’s features in the absolute dark of the cabin, lit only by the dying embers of an earlier fire. 

“It’s nearly Christmas.” Harry said softly, watching Draco stretch in his mountain of blankets, imagining how warm and soft he must be beneath them. His skin prickled and he shook his head of the thoughts that threatened to cloud his already fragile judgement. 

“Are you alright?” Draco asked suddenly, obviously picking up on Harry’s nervous energy. 

“I’m… okay. I think. Just the holidays always are a bit hard for me. Are you alright?” Harry asked in return. 

“Come down so we can talk.” Draco said, the quietest yet. 

Harry’s heart jumped into his throat, and he shimmied out of his blankets and over the edge of the bed. Draco was already lifting up the edge of his comforter as an invitation, and Harry’s body burned in excitement, anticipation. 

He crawled into the heat beneath the blankets, staying far to his edge of the bed, laying with his knees against Draco’s, the only parts of their bodies touching, both of them seeming overcome with sudden shyness in their proximity. 

“Is this okay?” Harry asked, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to run his hands over those hidden parts of him, swathes of skin he had dreamed about for months. But, he lay still, distanced.

“You know, Harry, you can call me Draco.” Came the soft voice, a hint haughty, like he was still the same Slytherin who had taunted him all those years ago. Like the tension between them wasn’t more than a silly schoolyard rivalry. 

“Draco.” Harry said, closing his eyes. His name in his mouth feeling so natural, so perfect. He had thought of him as Draco for months now, but the unspoken rule that they had to be Malfoy and Potter, not Draco and Harry had always kept him at bay. Had kept that distance between them. He laced his fingers together in his own hands, determined not to ruin this chance he had been given, the invitation to be so close, to share in the quiet warmth of Draco’s bed at midnight. 

“The holidays are hard for me, too.” Draco said. “Hard to imagine anything happy ever happening around my father, to be honest. And, well, you know how things were after sixth year. And, since the war, it was never the same. I couldn’t really go back there.” 

Harry nodded and sighed. “It must have been horrible, Draco. I’m sorry.” He wanted to reach out and hold him, to rub circles on his back and stroke his hair. 

Draco shrugged, as if his words hadn’t carried any weight. “What was it like for you?”

“Before Hogwarts?” Harry snorted an indignant laugh. “The Dursleys kept me locked in the cupboard most of the day for Christmas, especially if they were having company over. At least I’d eat, though, they’d always have leftovers.” 

“Your guardians sound like they were a fucking nightmare.” Draco said, shuffling closer to Harry. 

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. It got better once I got to Hogwarts. The Weasleys really took me in like one of their own. My first Christmas there I woke up to actual presents under a tree. For me. It was amazing.” Harry said, rolling onto his back, keeping his hands tucked behind his head, trying to avoid thinking about how close Draco was. 

“I always had mountains of gifts for Christmas, but really they were elaborate bribes. Nothing was given to me without the expectation that I would owe them in return.” Draco sighed heavily, his hands twisting into the hem of Harry’s shirt. 

“Is that why you get so scared of people being kind to you?” Harry said, his voice suddenly hoarse, his mind frantically trying to push away the fantastically sinful images of Draco’s hands on him. He forgot to breathe a few moments. Draco must have noticed, for his hands stilled at his side. 

“Perhaps.” He finally said. “I have a hard time deciphering kindness and ulterior motives. And sometimes, I just assume everyone is acting with a means to an end in mind.” 

“Do you think I’m using you?” Harry asked, suddenly serious, turning his head to look at Draco directly, bringing one hand down to meet the ones at his shirt hem, stilling his twisting hands in his. 

Draco was quiet for a long while before finally saying, “No, I don’t.”

“I would never, Draco. I would never use you, not for anything. You’ve taught me too much about kindness. About humanity. About empathy, even. I owe you my life.” 

Draco was still and quiet, and for a moment, Harry was worried he had said the wrong thing, pushed too far, crossed a line. Then, he felt Draco’s hand snake across his abdomen and Draco pulled him closer into an embrace, settling in at his side and breathing out heavily, as if the action had cost him something. As if it was an admission of his own.

Harry brought his other arm down and pulled Draco close against him, returning the tenderness of his actions, giving as much as he received. 

“Merry Christmas, Draco.” Harry said softly, into his blonde hair. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” He whispered back. 

And, at last, they drifted into sleep.


	21. New Years Resolutions

New Years Resolutions  
December 25, 2008

It was dark and warm and he could hear the soft hooting of owls. He felt safe and held. He had been dreaming of about stacks of Christmas presents; boxes and boxes with ornate wrappings and lavish bows, and each one he opened was a memory of Harry in a crystal ornament that he hung up on a giant tree that Harry had chopped down for him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that meant. 

This too, must be a dream, he thought realizing that the cozy and intoxicatingly warm feeling wasn’t leaving him as he came into consciousness. Nothing in the waking world had ever made him feel this beautiful warmth. 

Or, was that just Harry?

Harry who was laying on his back, with his arm around Draco who in turn had his head on Harry’s chest and was curled into his left side, his arm and leg slung over him. Draco who was becoming more and more aware in his awakening state of the erection he was pressing into Harry’s hip, and after shifting subtly, noticing the hardness pressing into the inside of the thigh that was draped over Harry. 

Draco remembered the last time he was here, and his panicked flight, and took several soft steadying breaths, not wanting to wake Harry just yet. This was an exercise in just being. Sitting with the discomfort in favor of growing past one of his hangups. 

Harry wouldn’t use him, Harry wouldn’t hurt him for his own gain. He was safe. He could just be.

They weren’t doing anything, this didn’t have to lead to anything, and Draco could just exist here for the time being and enjoy feeling Harry against him. Of his hardness on him.

He was fast forgetting all the reasons they discussed why they couldn’t pursue their feelings for one another. This just felt so unbelievably good. 

In his half awake state he allowed his mind to peer into the corner of buried thoughts where he kept Harry and the possibility of more. A place he occluded heavily.

After their talk, he had actively resisted that corner of his mind, understanding it to behave like a pandora’s box of need and want. He knew that if he opened it and started thinking about it, it would be impossible to close again. But now, in this sleepy stupor, their bodies intertwined, and their waking selves nowhere to be seen, Draco didn’t have the strength or force of will to keep that box closed or his walls up. 

He allowed himself to feel everything. Every desire, every need, every pull of magic that wrapped around them. The hope, the affection, the protectiveness, the pride he felt in Harry, all swirled in his chest as he breathed in air that smelled and tasted of Harry. Every one of his senses felt saturated in this man as he lay there, eyes barely open, just breathing him in. Why did it have to feel this good?

Just as he wondered how long he could lay here before the spell broke, Harry gave a deep guttural moan and arched his back into a little stretch in his sleep, pushing his groin up into Draco’s leg, before going lax again and dropping his hand back on Draco’s shoulder. 

The sinful feeling of that movement making Draco impossibly harder. His erection could no longer be considered morning wood, this was one of pure and desperate arousal. He wanted Harry so bad it made the saliva pool in his mouth and his body was becoming uncomfortably warm, tingling sparks shooting down through his spine and out through his limbs. He fought the urge to fidget or press himself harder into Harry’s hip, lest he wake him and lose the moment.

He played with the idea of simply waking Harry up and just finally fucking kissing him. Oh dear god, he had been wanting to for days, weeks, years now, actually. What would happen then? Would they have sex? Could they get each other off? Would that ruin their friendship? Would Draco panic?

Draco allowed himself the time he had, nearly laying on top of Harry, to just imagine what it would be like. Something he had never really comfortably done since the war. Sex always felt overwhelming and scary, even if he wanted the closeness quite desperately, and he tried to be comfortable with the idea of actually being physical with someone. 

Much to his surprise, the usual swell of rising panic at the thought of being touched, didn’t come. That was a first, Draco thought. He had always thought it was a panic he would have to force himself to get through in order to be close with someone. He never thought that, if he found the right person, there wouldn’t be a panic to fight off. 

…The right person, Draco thought, as an image of their patronuses popped into his mind, and he smiled against Harry’s chest. He was such a berk. Of course Harry thought it was because they were touched by death, and maybe he was right, maybe they weren’t soulmates, maybe they weren’t in love. Maybe Draco had outed himself for no fucking reason. But, hearing the admission from Harry that he felt the same way had elated him. 

And terrified him. 

The sobering thought of Harry’s very new sexuality and sobriety and their isolation washed over him and he took a deep breath, finally reining himself in. He couldn’t do this. Not because he was afraid of being touched, but because it wasn’t fair to either of them. He allowed Harry’s warmth and smell to saturated him for one last moment, savoring every second of it, committing it to memory to pack away into that corner of his mind, before gently rolling off of Harry and climbing out of the bed. 

He would go have a long hot bath, and wank like a teenager, before facing Christmas with a man he desperately didn’t want to want. 

_____________________

Draco apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. It had been nearly a year since he had been back, but the span of time did nothing to dull to the sharp shock of memories flooding through him at the sight of those old black wrought iron gates. 

He gripped his basket of gifts harder. His knuckles white. 

He already wished he was back at Tenebris Hollow with Harry. They had had such a beautifully cozy morning together. After waking up next to him, and not panicking, Draco had felt more confident in himself and oddly more comfortable with his attraction to Harry. It didn’t need to be so scary, it didn’t need to feel like an out of control beast. They could coexist with their feelings and be okay. 

But now he was here, at the Manor. This cesspool of dark magic and even darker history. He was about to partake in ‘Christmas Cheer’ with his mother, and try not to think about how people were eaten on the dining room table. About the Christmas they spent with Greyback and Lestrange. He shuddered, struggling to repress the memory, and thought about how he could at least visit Snape’s second portrait, the one that was made just for his godson, and update him on the DoM.

His mother had greeted him at the front door, glass of wine in hand, and walked with him to the drawing room where they would spend their Christmas brunch. It was just the two of them, and Draco felt more awkward than he thought the situation warranted. He had given his mother the basket of gifts and she looked through them with an expression of polite interest, that Draco could see through in a second. 

He had made her a knitted shawl with wool that Luna had spun for him and that he had dyed with woad he picked from his and Harry’s garden. He was rather proud of it. It was a gorgeous deep blue, and the lace weight of the yarn meant it had taken him nearly six weeks to finish. It was a bloody fabulous work of art and she just set it aside with a nod and continued to unpack the basket. 

“Vegetables?” She asked incredulously, her polite mask slipping in confusion and maybe offense. 

“I grew them, over the summer. I have a whole stasis cupboard full of what I grew in the garden. Carrots, potatoes, there’s a cabbage in there, and a whole mess of broad beans. They’re quite delicious, I found a packet of ancient heirloom seeds and I grew enough food to feed an army in the garden.” Draco felt pride swelling in him like a balloon, buoying him in the face of Narcissa’s calloused disdain for something Draco gave her which cost him his physical exertion. He knew she thought it was unbefitting of him to make and do with his hands, and Draco felt a flash of anger at her arrogance. 

Honestly, how did he stand a chance to be a kind child with this woman raising him?

“Lovely, dear, thank you.” She said without looking at him. After an awkward pause in which Draco didn’t respond, she sighed heavily and finally looked at him to see what must have been very obvious annoyance and probably hurt etched into his face. Realizing her mistake she leaned over to grab the shawl and unfolded it to study it closer. 

“You made this, you said?” she asked, her voice sounding more curious than it had when she first saw the gift. 

“Yes. Luna spins wool, so she sent me the yarn, and I dyed it with herbs Neville recommended. And then I designed and knit the pattern. It’s peacock feathers, see?” He said reaching over to lay the shawl flat across his mother’s lap. He had thought he was being rather cleverly amusing to make her a shawl of knit peacock feathers. He thought it suited her. 

Her face softened and she looked up at him with a real genuine smile, small though it was. He relaxed a little, and was glad he wouldn’t have to steal it back to give to someone who would actually appreciate it. “Its beautiful Draco, thank you.” She finally said. 

“You’re welcome.”

His mother had given him a book entitled Rites of a Pureblood Heir. No need to speculate the implication there, he thought. 

“A grandchild, Draco, that’s all I’m asking for.” She said, sipping her second glass of wine, as if what she was asking for could be picked up on Diagon Alley. 

“Mother, you know I’m gay. Why are we doing this again?” He snapped at her, to which she completely ignored and kept talking on as if nothing was said.

After 30 minutes of stilted small talk in which Draco spent most of the time defending his life choices in the face of a lecture on pureblood duties, he had excused himself to see his godfather's portrait to update him on the DoM. It had been a fruitful conversation with much gossip and speculation about the Golden Git. 

“Apparently,” Severus had said, “they’ve confirmed contact from Potter, but still, no one knows where he’s gone or what he’s doing.” He eyed Draco closely. “They’re trying very hard to get the Prophet to stop running stories and speculations, so McGonagall says.”

“Mmm.” Draco had hummed in feigned interest. He could not escape Severus’s knowing eyes fast enough. After updating him with as much work related detail as he could, he fled his childhood wing, but not before spotting and sequestering two brooms, to find his mother half way through a second bottle of wine. 

Oh good. This should be fun, he thought, setting the brooms down next to his basket. He knew Christmas was going to be exhausting but he didn’t realize it would be this onerous. His mother was tolerable when she wasn’t drinking, but her and a bottle of chablis were an entirely different monster. 

“You know, Draco dear, it’s awfully unbecoming that I can’t seem to get you to visit.” She said, her eyes like daggers, her voice like ice, and her words too sweet sounding. “It’s almost as if you don’t want to see me.”

“Mother, you know I’ve been busy with research.” he sighed. Couldn’t they get through one visit without sniping. Couldn’t she just enjoy him while she could?

“Yes, too busy to grace the woman who raised you with your presence.” She smiled a cold, false smile. 

Draco didn’t have the energy to smile an equally fake smile back at her. He just looked back into her eyes. A battle of wills. She wanted Draco to apologize to her for being absent, for taking the time he needed for himself, for avoiding this hell hole. He wasn’t going to. 

Gone were the days where she could wrest false promises and apologies from his lips. Gone were the days where he felt bad that she lived alone in this mausoleum of torture. She made her choices, and they were not Draco’s. 

“Yes, I am too busy.” Draco said, his gaze unwavering, his voice even. 

Narcissa’s cheeks tinged pink in anger, and he saw her eyes darken slightly as she readied a verbal assault, fake smile unwavering. 

“I didn’t raise you to turn your back on family, Draco.” She said, her words enunciated sharply to wound as well as to fight past the chablis in her system. 

“You didn’t raise me to do much more than be a spoiled brat, actually.” Draco retorted. “I can’t tell you how hard I’ve worked to undo the damage you two did, to be a decent human.” He had never spoken to his mother like this, and he didn’t realize he had so much venom in his system. All the unsaid things, spilling out.

“We gave you everything!” she shouted, her smile gone, the audacity of his words shocking her out of her poise. “Everything! You selfish and ungrateful-“

“Oh? Everything?” He asked cutting her off, voice steely and dripping with cruel sarcasm. He knew she was drunk and that he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he was so, so very angry. 

“Are you including the deep well of psychological issues in ‘everything’? Does this ‘everything’ include my years of therapy trying to get over the gas-lighting joke that was my childhood? Hmm? How about the suicide attempt that you ignored? What about the fact that I was raped, oh, I don’t know, like,” He threw his hands out, gesticulating wildly, “dozens of times, some of which happened, in this very room? Is that part of the ‘everything’ you and Lucius gave me? Because, excuse me for my lack of gratitude.” He spat out, feeling gratified by the look of shock written across his mother’s face, as if she had been slapped. 

He was standing now and striding over to grab his basket and broom sticks, “But you could have fucking kept all of it.” and he marched out of the room without a backward glance.

____________

Draco apparated just outside the protective enchantments of the cottage and stood there clutching his brooms and basket, with his eyes closed, trying to steady the flood of rage coursing through him. 

It felt so good to tell his mother off like that. Years of pent of feelings. Her stricken face flitted across his mind’s eye and the slight guilt he felt was nothing in the face of the cathartic release of tension from his body. 

He opened his eyes to the sound of the front door opening and Harry striding out towards him, whisk in hand, floral apron on, and what looked like dusting sugar on his face, a concerned furrow to his brow. 

“Draco?” He asked, “I heard the appararition, but didn’t think you’d be back so soon, are you okay?”

“No, I am not okay.” He said, trying not to take his anger out on Harry. He was so bloody handsome with sugar on his face and that stupid apron, and he was so fucking nice. 

“Come inside, yeah?” He said, reaching out to take the basket from Draco and indicating with his head back towards the cabin. They crunched over the snow on the path, between the frozen dead beds of their garden and back inside. Draco dropped the broom sticks by the door and looked to see what appeared to be a confectioner’s workshop in the kitchen. 

“What are you doing in here?” Draco asked, curiosity maligning his anger. 

“Oh, well. I know you said you didn’t want to exchange gifts, but I thought I’d make you marshmallows for cocoa tonight.” He smiled back at Draco who felt his stomach flip and he couldn’t stop the smile spreading on his face. 

“Can I help?” Draco asked, shucking off his coat and kicking off his boots. 

“No, you cannot, because this is a delicate operation that I barely have control over.” Harry laughed. “But you can tell me about how your short Christmas visit was with your mum. I thought you’d be there for hours yet.” Harry was pouring what looked like molten hot syrup into a bowl of liquid with a charmed whisk mixing it furiously into a white foam. 

“Is that mallow root?” Draco asked picking up the herb and inspecting it. There were herbs on the counter, pots of honey, packets of gelatin, pans dusted with confectioner sugar, jars of fragrant vanilla, herbal infusions, bowls of whipped egg whites, it was a chaotic mess, and Harry looked like he was in his domestic element. Draco felt his heart tighten in his chest. 

“Yeah.” Harry said, concentrating on pouring the mysterious ingredients into one another while they whisked together. I asked the house elves for the recipe and they sent all these ingredients. I think it’s a very old recipes, actually. I don’t think marshmallows from the shop are made with mallow root and honey anymore.” He chuckled. 

Draco grinned. “I don’t know much about marshmallows if I’m honest. Not something I have a lot of experience with other than they’re delicious burnt over a fire.”

“Then wait til you have them in some of my famous cocoa.” Harry said, shooting Draco a playful smirk. 

The look shot right through Draco in the most pleasurable way “Famous is it?” Draco teased, realizing how easy this was, how natural it felt. 

“Just you wait.” Harry said, slowly adding whipped egg-whites to the mixture now. The strong smell of vanilla filling the air. 

Draco just smiled at Harry’s profile and took advantage of the opportunity to look at him while he worked. 

“So, tell me about your mum.” Harry said, turning to catch Draco staring, and blushing slightly. 

Draco groaned and slumped into his seat at the table. “Where to begin.” He started, ignoring his own flushing skin, before launching into a dramatic tirade about his short but eventful visit. 

They passed a few hours chatting pleasantly. Harry said the marshmallows needed about 6 hours to set before they could eat them so it would be ready for their evening cocoa. The house elves had sent over replenishing plates of food from the Hogwarts Christmas feast as a gift, and they gorged themselves on the comfort of it. 

When evening finally fell, they settled down on the skin rug in front of the fire in their pajamas, wrapped in blankets, mugs of cocoa in their hands, and a plate of marshmallows between them. 

Harry had said the secret to his cocoa was cream, honey, and cardamom. He was right, it was the best fucking cocoa Draco had ever had, and the marshmallows were divine. 

“So,” Draco said at a lull in their conversation, feeling a little nervous, “I know we said we weren’t going to do gifts-“

“You did not, you sneaky bastard.” Harry cut him off, looking offended. 

“But,” Draco continued, “since you gave me that lovely talisman.” He said without looking at Harry. “I thought it would be only fair if I made you something as well.” He flicked his wand at the christmas tree, and a hidden package came zooming out towards Harry and into his lap before he could protest further. “This way we’re even.” Draco finished. 

“Even, huh?” Harry said, clearly unable to stop the smile on his face. The parcel was small and lumpy, wrapped in parchment and tied with yarn. It looked as if it were wrapped by child, and Draco felt he should have asked the elves to wrap it for him instead.

Harry plucked the note off the lopsided bow and read it, his eyes going soft, his smile becoming shy and sweet. Draco blushed just as he had done when he wrote the note. 

_Harry,_

_To keep you warm on your darkest of nights._

_\- Draco_

Harry carefully unwrapped the gift and Draco had to resist the urge to tell him to get a move on already. His nerves felt raw and exposed. 

Finally removing the parchment wrapping, the knitted items fell into Harry’s lap and he stared at them for a long while before looking up. 

“They’re thestrals.” He said softly. 

“Well spotted.” Draco said trying for haughty, but his voice came out deeper than he meant it to. 

Draco had knit Harry a purple and grey hat with matching mittens and a scarf, all with thestrals knit into the patterns. 

Harry rolled his eyes affectionately before saying with wonder “I can feel your magic.” 

“Mmm.” Draco agreed, not quite trusting himself to speak just yet. 

“I placed a warming charm on them, and some protective magic as well.” He said finally after Harry pulled the hat over his head and slipped the gloves on. He looked like an adorable, oversized child.

“When did you make these? I never saw you working on them. I never even saw you dye these colors.” He said looking at Draco in amazement, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. 

“I’m a Slytherin Harry, we have our ways.” Draco smiled. 

“You certainly do.” He said, and the searing look he sent Draco ran through him like fiendfyre.

“Anyways.” Draco looked away quickly before he did something stupid, playing with the rim of his mug, his voice croaking. “Thank you for the talisman.”

“Thank you for the thestrals.” Harry said. 

_____________

December 31, 2008

In the days from Christmas to New Years Draco found himself less and less capable of resisting the inexplicable pull towards Harry. Their days were lazy. Draco wasn’t working on his research, and Harry didn’t have anything to do around the hollow in the cold so they spent much of their time laying around reading, talking, or in Draco’s case, knitting.

It was the closest Draco had ever felt to Harry, and he found himself looking for excuses to bump against him, touch his arm, or graze his shoulder. He would have felt bad about crumbling resolve but it seemed Harry had the same ideas. It was nearing twilight and Draco was trying to teach Harry how to say a few sentences in French, which Harry was not grasping, when they were distracted by Neville’s owl at the window. 

Draco jumped up to retrieve the letter in good spirits. He had sent Neville a pair of moss green socks with a leaf pattern for Christmas, along with several unidentified seeds from the old closet. Some of them were labeled with very ominous warnings such as “Unforgivable Beetroot” or “Blood Letting Bean” and thought Neville would enjoy them immensely. 

He unfurled the letter as Harry set about making them tea. 

_Draco,_

_Thanks so much for your gift. The moss socks were amazing. Your skills are really improving, you’re a right old lady now. ha ha._

_And the seeds were fascinating, what a special gift, thank you. I’ll let you know what comes of them._

_You’ll never believe what happened over Christmas. I was approached by the Department of Mysteries (again) and they asked if they could test a new potion on my parents meant for psychological damage. And you know, I always agree to whatever they come up with. They thought there was real promise._

_And, well, whatever they gave them made some sort of an impact because, over Christmas when I went to visit, my mum recognized me and said my name. She hasn’t ever been able to say my name before. It was incredible. This is the first time I’ve had hope that someday they might be okay. Just thought you’d like to hear._

_Anyways, hope you’re having a good Christmas. If you get lonely, come for coffee._

_Love,_  
_\- Neville_

Draco’s tears dropped onto the parchment in his hands that shook slightly as he read and reread the letter. The DoM had tested his potion and concluded that it was safe for patient use. They used his suggested case study of Neville’s parents. It had made a positive impact. His research and months of work hadn’t been wasted. It had helped two people that had been harmed by Death Eaters. By Bellatrix. And Lestrange. 

He felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder and he turned a watery smile to him as he handed over the parchment, not trusting his voice to explain. 

After Harry was finished he looked back at Draco with a huge beaming smile. “This was your potion, your research, wasn’t it? You did this?” 

Draco wiped the tears from his face and nodded, trying to regain control of himself. He felt like he was exploding with a sense of pride he had never known. He thought he had been proud when he became a Healer, when he started therapy, hell he thought he had been proud when he could cohabitate with another human. None of that compared to what he was feeling now. It overwhelmed him. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Harry said, jostling his shoulder, coaxing a shy smile from Draco who was lost in his own thoughts. “Does Neville know this was you?”

“Not yet.” Draco finally said. “I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I’ll tell him after I hear back from the DoM.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him into a hug that Draco melted into, and they swayed slightly on the spot. 

“What would you like to do to celebrate?” Harry asked quietly in Draco’s ear, and he was sure Harry didn’t miss the way Draco shivered in response. 

“Let’s go flying.” He said, voice low, before he could say what he really wanted to do. 

Harry pulled back, a huge smile on his face, and a mischievous glint in his eye. 

After a pause of excited anticipation, in which they grinned slyly at one another, they moved at the same time. They lunged across the cottage, scrabbling for boots, jackets, and mittens. They were laughing and shoving each other, shouting inane threats and jeers. 

“I bet I can get in the air before you!” Draco shouted, tripping Harry who was pulling a hoodie over his head and didn’t see it coming . 

“Ouf!” He grunted. “Like hell you can!” Harry yelled from the floor, reaching for and throwing one of Draco’s boots across the cottage as scrambled to his feet in search for his own shoes. 

Draco squawked in indignation as he dove for his boot. He frantically laced them up as Harry was donning his last layers. 

Draco shoved past Harry, who had been just about to bound for the door himself, knocking him over onto Draco’s bunk. Draco stole his advantage and bolted for his broom.

“You cheating berk!” Harry shouted, righting himself, soon in hot pursuit at Draco’s heels. 

As Draco cleared the steps, laughing wildly, and made to jump on his broom in the yard, but Harry lunged forward knocking Draco to the ground and launched himself into the air first, cackling madly. 

“Dirty git!” Draco yelled after him, pushing off hard and tearing through the stinging air after Harry. 

The two of them tore after one another, chasing and being chased, flying higher and higher, looping, diving, showing off, and laughing. 

Draco charmed a pinecone to fly through the air for a very non-regulation compliant seeker’s game. They both cheated gratuitously, each more interested in teasing and out flying the other than in catching the pinecone. They kept challenging one another to more and more ridiculous feats of flying and tricks. 

After nearly three hours, they were frozen to the bone, exhausted, and sweat drenched. The dark night had long since consumed them and they landed back at the cottage under a blanket of stars, panting heavily and laughing. 

“That was amazing.” Harry huffed, looking thoroughly disheveled and brimming with happiness that he directed at Draco. 

“I completely agree, but I’m freezing. Can you make more of your cocoa? I need a quick wash.” Draco said, following Harry up the steps. 

After they each respectively washed and changed into pajamas they wordlessly migrated to Draco’s bed with cocoa in hand. They sat cross legged, facing one another, a roaring fire on the other side of the cottage heating their small space. They talked about flying and quidditch, about Hogwarts and their best memories of the place. 

They eventually finished their cocoa and ended up laying down on their sides, under the blankets and facing one another, their knees touching. 

Harry cast a tempus above them. 11:30pm. 

“What do you want for the new year, Draco?” He asked, his face looked sleepy but content, soft and open. 

“I want to make sure I’m happy where I am and doing what I’m doing. I love being a Healer and helping people, but St. Mungo’s will never respect me. I’ll always be struggling beneath people. This year of research on my own has shown me I’m capable of so much. I want to keep experimenting, I want to find new ways to heal others. Particularly those hurt by the war.” 

Harry nodded, reaching between them to offer his hand, which Draco met halfway and repressed a shiver as their fingers intertwined. Harry’s hands were strong and warm and he could feel some of the calluses and blisters from all the hard work he did around the Hollow. God, why did they keep doing this?

“And you?” Draco asked, voice quieter. Trying to pretend like it was absolutely normal that they were laying in bed together, holding hands. 

Harry took a deep breath, sighing it out slowly. “I just want to stay sober. I don’t know what that will take, or what I’ll have to change, or where I’ll even be living.” He looked down at their hands between them, under the thick duvet. “I try not to think too much about it, honestly. I’m scared I won’t do well back out in the real world.” 

Draco hummed in thought. “Are you going to stay with the aurors?” He asked. 

Harry groaned. “If they haven’t fired me for just disappearing for an entire year with no explanation whatsoever, they’re all idiots anyway. I mean, I know I’m the savior and everything, but even that seems a bit excessive.” 

“That still doesn’t really answer the question, Harry.” He pointed out. “You have to make the choice.”

“It’s not good for me.” Harry said softly, looking back up to meet Draco’s gaze. “The stress, the constant fear of dark magic, always feeling like I’m on a hunt that never ends. That there’s danger everywhere. I don’t want to live like that. I want to be happy.” 

“That seems like a good first step.” Draco said, idly rubbing his thumb over the scars on the back of Harry’s hand. “What do you think you’d want to do instead?” He wondered if anyone had ever asked Harry about what he really wanted to do with his life. If anyone had ever given him the opportunity to think of himself as anything other than an auror. 

“Do you promise not to laugh if I tell you? I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Ever since your patronus. But… I can’t tell if it’s a stupid idea or not.” Harry scrunched up his face, obviously uncomfortable with the idea that he was about to put himself out there. 

Draco cringed internally at the thought of how he had acted that day. But he didn’t want to let on to Harry. “Of course I won’t laugh. Don’t you trust me?” 

Harry smiled. “I want to teach.” He was watching Draco’s face for a reaction, green eyes clear even in the soft light of the fire. “That day, with you, it brought me back to some of my best memories. Of teaching others how to fight for themselves. How to access their magic. How to cast, almost without thinking. It always filled me with so much pride to see others master something I had explained to them. I felt useful and god, I used to have so much fun.” 

“You’re a brilliant teacher, why would I have laughed?” Draco asked incredulously. Harry really did have a talent for teaching, it was Draco as a student that had been their problem. 

“You think so? Really?” Harry’s smile was genuine and his face radiant with the compliment. “I never thought I’d live to see the day Draco Malfoy said I was brilliant at something.” 

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry and shook his head. “Don’t get too cocky, now.”

Harry, still smiling, leaned in close to Draco, dropping his voice to near a whisper. “You know, this is exactly how I wanted to ring in the New Year. With you. Like this.”

Draco’s stomach was filled with a nervous fluttering sensation, and he could feel the heat in his face rising. Good thing it was so dark. 

“You know they say what you’re doing at midnight on the New Year is how you’ll spend the rest of the year.” Harry said, voice still soft and low, his eyes now searching Draco’s. He looked nervous suddenly, tentative. Like he was asking something, without asking. 

“Are you asking me if things are going to be like this when we leave the forest in February?” Draco felt suddenly serious, feeling the weight of the unsaid words. 

“I want them to be.” Harry licked his lips nervously, and Draco’s mouth was suddenly equally dry. 

“I know you think this is just us in isolation, that I’ll be someone else once we leave. But, Draco, this is me. This is who I’ve always wanted to be. It’s with you I feel at home. I know who you are. I know what’s between us. I can feel it, and I can wait until you’re ready.” Harry was so close to him now, their noses nearly touching, Harry’s hand reaching up to brush the soft blonde hair from Draco’s face. 

Draco felt his resolve crumbling around him. His defenses were gone. He could feel Harry’s breath on his lips and feel the weight of his hand in his hair and on his face, and he didn’t think he could stop this from happening. He didn’t want to stop it. He reached his hand out to touch Harry’s chest. 

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t feel what I feel.” Harry said the words quickly, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. “Tell me this is too much, and I’ll stop.” 

Draco looked back into Harry’s face, he could feel his heartbeat under his hand, and smell the safe familiar smell of him. He knew he couldn’t deny what Harry was saying, knew he was right. He could feel it, it was real. This wasn’t their isolation, this wasn’t an experiment. But was he ready for this? Could he take the leap? He studied Harry’s face, who looked back at him intently, waiting patiently for a response from Draco, and he felt a sweeping sense of safety and affection. Draco braced himself for Harry’s reaction to what he was about to say. 

“I’m not ready.” He whispered, barely audibly, his eyes not leaving Harry’s, their mouths so close together. 

Instead of the look of disappointment he expected to see, Harry’s face broke into a huge smile. Draco could tell that Harry realized he wasn’t being rejected, his feelings weren’t being denied, and Draco felt relief wash through him. 

He knew that Harry wouldn’t begrudge him for not being ready, knew that his acceptance and admission of their feelings could be enough for right now. His smile was victorious and full of love. 

Draco’s heart felt fit to burst when Harry didn’t close the gap to kiss Draco on the lips, but instead reached out to pull him into a soft embrace and whispered into his hair, “You can take as long as you need, I’m not going anywhere.” before placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head and saying “Happy New Year, Draco.”


	22. Under the Moon

Under the Moon  
January 15, 2008

It was the fifteenth evening in a row that they had fallen in bed together at the end of the day. Harry had gotten so used to making their evening cup of tea, sitting with Draco a bit, talking idly, flirting even, before Draco would smile shyly and pull Harry down into the nest of covers with him, sometimes more urgent than others. It was routine, now, but no less exciting and enticing every time it happened. 

They had not much to do during the day, the snow piling high up against the exposed stone walls, the wind whipping around the Hollow. No research to be done, no garden to be tended, no chores to prepare for the months ahead. Harry and Draco passed the time recounting stories of the months passed, Harry attempting to read snippets of the French erotica they found, Draco creating more and more elaborate meals. Their time together was full of tenderness, of care, of the joy of each other’s company. 

That, and Harry was constantly stealing time away for baths or other solitary moments to address the maddening sexual frustration - he’d slipped into a comfortable twice a day routine. He’d make sure he had just orgasmed before crawling into bed at night, usually with a bath. And, in the morning when they finally came to terms with getting up and making breakfast, Harry would take an extra long time in the loo changing, brushing his teeth, getting ready, frantically pulling at his cock, sometimes Draco’s name falling from his parted lips, a silencing charm long since mandatory in his ritual ablutions. 

And it was always Draco he thought of. He thought of him on his knees, sucking Harry’s cock, his blonde hair falling over his eyes as he licked long stripes up from the base to the tip. He thought of the particularly devious dream he had had on New Year's eve, one where he had been rutting up against Draco under the covers while Draco begged Harry to let him fuck him. He’d woken in time, but he’d nearly come in bed, Draco fast asleep against him, Harry’s chest pulling in deep breaths of air as his cock strained against his boxers, slick with precum. He had shuffled out of bed, slowly, carefully, worried about waking Draco, but desperate for release. He’d snuck to the little bathroom, cast his charms, and had the most intense wank of his life so far. He’d nearly fingered himself, the gentle external rubbing of his prostate just not satisfying his fantastic urges. He had wanted to, imagining Draco sliding into him, but he’d come too quickly, and he’d been overcome with embarrassment, shyness, even hints of shame once his breathing had settled and his leg, the one he had put up on the edge of the tub, had stopped shaking. 

In the moments he wasn’t drowning in rampant desire and holding fast to his self control, Harry couldn’t help the oft distracting thought that they would soon be leaving. That their time alone together was coming to a close. That he would be separated from Draco. That his nights would be spent alone. That his days would be filled with others, with outsiders, with people who wouldn’t understand him. Well, the new him. 

The Harry who wasn’t interested in drinking or couldn’t go to pub nights anymore. The Harry who shied away from honey on dark days, and who sometimes had to pause and stretch his shoulders, even now, when something would settle on his deeper wounds. The Harry who wouldn’t take sleeping draughts or who would feel uncomfortable talking to Healers ever again about his medical history. The Harry who had fought his way back from a different battle. One no one had bothered to see. One that was somehow so much crueler and more unfair than the first. One that was even lonelier. A battle that had been fought on the many nooks and exposed pieces of his own body. The Harry who didn’t want to be left alone too long. 

The Harry who was gay.

Harry was worried about introducing this new self to his friends again. He didn’t think Ron and Hermione wouldn’t understand - In all Harry’s letters to Hermione these past few months, she hadn’t pried, she’d let him just be him, let him give what he could and providing him with nothing but love and comfort, of a sense of connection to his family. 

Harry sighed deeply, pulling Draco closer onto his chest. He wanted to feel his weight on him. To feel grounded. He wanted touch, skin on skin, to feel his breaths and his heart and all the things that soothed him when his thoughts started to congeal in the parts of his brain that craved oblivion. 

Draco sat up a bit and looked down at Harry, an eyebrow raised. “What’s going on in your head, Harry? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m scared of leaving, Draco. The more I think about it, the more unprepared I feel for the outside world.” Harry said, not for the first time. 

“The stress, I think, it’s making me crave and feel uneasy. I don’t like it. But it won’t leave me alone.” 

Draco pushed Harry’s hair back away from his face, his features full of affection and understanding. “Well, what ideas for support do you have? Have you got a therapist? Are you going to go to meetings?” 

Harry cringed internally at the thought. How could he ensure anonymity? What would a group meeting be like with the famous Harry Potter admitting he used narcotics to cope? 

“I want to tell Ron and Hermione, I really do.” Harry started. “But, I have no idea of a therapist who I could trust - and groups? Draco you know that sounds like a nightmare.” He was absent mindedly tracing abstract figures across Draco’s back while he spoke, his fingertips running over the puckered ridges of scarred skin, barely hidden by Draco’s thin t-shirt. 

“I think you need to write to Luna.” Draco said evenly, a small smirk on the corners of his lips. “She’s a therapist who works with addictions, Harry. She runs groups that are mixed muggle and wizard, so there’d be no chance of anyone mentioning you or why you’re famous. You’d be just another attendee.” 

“I know, Draco. We’ve had this same conversation before. I know I should write her. I just… You’re the only person in the world who knows. It feels safe that way.” Harry was feeling the intensely uncomfortable pulling apart that recovery required. The admission and recognition that you, a person you had known and trusted your whole life, were an addict. You were flawed, and sick, and not always in control. 

“Harry James Potter don’t start with that. Secrets. They’re the bitter fuel addictions run on. They’ll do nothing but keep your relapse just as secret. They’ll keep you sick. Even if it’s just me, I can’t take this on alone. Neither can you.” Draco’s stern look softened a bit. “You’ll be okay. You can do this. It’ll be hard at first, but it was hard being here in the forest at first, remember? You barely got out of bed for two weeks. You were angry at everything. But, eventually, it got easier, you got better at coping, you got good at it, even.” 

“What if I relapse, Draco? What then?” Harry rolled to his side, facing Draco now, his head down and his forehead tucked against Draco’s chest. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.” Harry said into his white cotton t-shirt, trying to hide the tears threatening to spill over his already wet lashes. 

Draco pulled him into his chest and rubbed his back. “Harry, I’m not going to lie and say it will be easy, or it couldn’t happen. But I believe in you. You’re the strongest person I know. And this is exactly why it’s so important for you to have people you can tell if you’re struggling. That’s the whole point of therapy, of groups, of telling Ron and Hermione. So that they can be there on the bad days to help you through.” 

“And you, Draco? Won’t you be there for me once we leave the forest?” Harry said, his voice choked and hoarse. 

Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and shushed him softly. “I can’t be the only one, Harry.” 

_______________  
January 18, 2009 

It was a few days later that Harry brought up the subject again, this time while they were sitting at the kitchen table together. 

“Move in with me, Draco.” Harry said, watching Draco cut up his full English into bite-sized pieces. 

Draco froze, his fork midway to his mouth, laden with eggs and rashers and bacon. 

“Move in with you?” He said, his cheeks reddening, obviously unsettled by the question. 

“I want to move back to Grimmauld Place, but I don’t want to try to make a go of it alone, and, well, the house already sees you as one of it’s masters. You could help me, maybe? We could reclaim the house together? Try and get some of the dark magic there under control? The last time I was there with you, it felt right. It felt good, even though it was horrible. I at least felt like I could do it.” Harry was rambling a bit, but he was full of hope. He had been thinking about it for ages. He didn’t want to give up Sirius’s old home, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the place that had provided them refuge in the war. He didn’t want the building always marred by the memories of his fall, of his failures. He wanted to reclaim it. Like he had reclaimed honey. He wanted to sit with the discomfort and overcome it. 

Draco just stared at him in what looked like wary confusion, then sadness, before saying, “Harry, I can’t move in with you.”

“But we’re already living together. Draco, we sleep in the same bed together.” His eyes were wide, imploring. They had woken up together that morning, both hard, both too comfortable to move, no longer shy of each other, but Harry not daring to make any sudden moves, waiting for Draco to take all of the first steps. Harry had nearly kissed him for not moving away, and his chest was tight with longing, but he had turned away instead, he had been the first to get up and start his morning routine. 

“Harry, I’m not ready.” 

“Ok.” Harry said softly, and cleared his plate from the table. 

__________________

Later that evening, Harry whistled for Little Dipper, who came soaring through the window and hopped onto the kitchen table, ready and waiting for whatever errand Harry had for him. 

He was always like that, so playful and chipper, full of excitement for any delivery and whatever strange instructions Harry had for him. 

Harry smiled and sighed, rubbing the owl’s little ear tufts. 

He pulled out the letter he had just written to Hermione. When Draco had rejected his idea of moving back in to Grimmauld Place, Harry had thought long and hard about what he was going to do instead. 

He re-read the letter once more, trying to strengthen his resolve. He could do this. It was going to be okay. 

_Hermione,_

_I am coming home. Is the flat at the back of your and Ron’s house still available? I’d really appreciate it if I could stay again._

_We have a lot to discuss. I know you haven’t asked questions this whole time, and I’m so thankful for that, but you and Ron deserve the truth, and I think I’m finally ready to share it with you. In person, though. I need you to be able to see that I’m okay._

_I’ll be back at the end of February. Please let me know if that’s okay. I promise to stay out of your way, and I can help with Rose if you need it! I know you’re back at work and must be very stressed and busy, what with Ron gone during the day as well._

_Hope to hear from you soon._

_All my love,_  
_\- Harry_

Harry sighed and stretched his shoulders down. He was nervous, but Draco was right. He couldn’t hide away. He couldn’t expect Draco to carry everything for the rest of their lives. He had to start making a life that he could live. And this was the first step. 

He rolled up the bit of parchment and attached it to Dipper’s leg, giving him a fond look and an owl treat.

“Off you go then, be safe.” Harry said, as the little owl hopped from the table to the back of the little chair and off out the window again, hooting happily. 

One down, Harry thought to himself, one to go. 

And this one. This one would be short, but so much harder to write. He sat back down at the little table and pulled a second bit of parchment and a freshly inked quill toward him. 

_Luna,_

_I need your help. Please send me your group meeting schedule and a list of appointment times where you will be free in March. Please._

_\- Harry_

Harry stared at the parchment for some time, tapping the quill and jiggling his foot beneath the desk. This was harder than he had expected, even. 

When he sent this, she would know. She would know and he would be beholden to therapy with her. To group sessions. She would know if he didn’t come, if he wasn’t taking care of himself. If he ever relapsed.  
Sweat was starting to break out on his forehead, and Harry wiped his arm across his face, swallowed hard, and rolled the bit of paper back up. 

He stood up from the chair, quickly, a bit unsteady, and shuffled over to where Draco was lounging, reading his French smut and eating pistachios. 

“Draco.” Harry started, his voice soft, nearly wavering. 

“Mm Harry?” Draco answered, not looking up, slowly turning the page from a rather raunchy looking pen and ink illustration. Harry could just make out that it was a man, legs wide in the air. 

Harry paused, the words sticking in his throat, his heart beating faster than it should, needing to swallow more than he thought was normal. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

Draco looked up after the pause, and saw Harry. He saw his sweaty face and his open mouth, his shaking hand gripping the tiny bit of parchment. 

“Harry?” Draco said, softly, lowering the book, reaching a hand out to Harry’s. Harry took it gratefully, and let himself be pulled down onto Draco’s lap, leaning his head against his shoulder and letting out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, rubbing Harry’s shoulder gently, feeling the tension that was gathering there. 

“I wrote this. For Luna.” Harry said, face hidden against Draco’s neck, so reassured by the smell of his soap and hints of mint. It calmed him, and he reached out to Draco’s hand to deposit the bit of parchment in it. 

“Can you send it for me? As soon as Dipper gets back?” Harry asked, closing his eyes, not wanting to think about what he was committing to. He needed this. And he wanted Draco to see what it was taking from him. 

“Yes.” Draco said, still rubbing Harry’s shoulder. “I can do that.”

And they sat like that for a while longer, before Draco sent Harry off to have a bath and they both climbed into bed for the night.


	23. In the Light of Day

In the Light of Day  
January 27, 2009

“I thought you were done with your research, what’s with all the paper?” Harry asked jovially, striding over to Draco’s workbench where he sat hunched over many sheets of parchment, letters spread out in front of him from many different senders. Harry smelled like outside, and he had brought a clean chill with him when he came in the cottage. 

Draco lifted his head and leaned back just far enough to press his shoulder into Harry’s side. “I finally got a letter back from the DoM.” He said, feeling elated with the response he had gotten. “And, I’m finally getting around to responding to letters from Christmas.”

“Oh, and what did the DoM have to say for themselves?” Harry asked, eyes bright and smiling. He let his hand drop casually on Draco’s shoulder, smoothing the wrinkles in his sweater as he asked in a mock simper. “Dear Healer Malofy, thanks for blowing our minds, please keep being amazing?”

Draco huffed a small laugh. “My god, Harry, don’t be ridiculous. By the way, you never told me Granger worked for the DoM? She’s the one who responded to me.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess I never really thought about it.” He said, looking surprised.

“Anyways,” Draco went on, “they sent pages and pages of reviews on my potions, theories, and test results, as well as a massive list of suggestions and places to improve.” He picked up the stack and started rifling through, looking for a specific page. “Then they ended it with this.” He said, handing the page to Harry to read.

_Dear Healer Malfoy,_

_Your dissertation has been reviewed and your potions tested. After thorough investigations into your formula and rigorous metrics, all of your potions were passed through to the live participant testing stage with St. Mungo’s. We are pleased to inform you that, not only were your original theories and assertions correct, but we were able to find more diverse applications, of which we listed per potion on page 17 of your review._

_In addition, your suggested case study has shown marked improvement, and we feel that, with time, we could see, at the very least, a partial improvement of the damage._

_What interested us the most was the notable fact that Unspeakables in the past have tried to study the use of thestrals in healing potions, and none have been able to reap the same results that you have. More interestingly, the same can be said about unicorns. We are studying the individual magical signatures that certain witches and wizards carry that allow them to access the properties of these ingredients. We believe you may be one of the rare magical people who are able to engage with and use thestrals in this way. Our questions are as follows;_

_Would you be interested in working more closely with the DoM in research and application of thestral magic in healing? We are eager to continue these investigations._  
_In your research with the unicorns, did you come across anyone with the same affinity for them as you have for thestrals?_  
Do you know anyone else who is able to use and approach thestrals in the same manner as you?  
Do you have access to rare magical plants such as wiggentree, gentian root, bog myrtle, or tormentil?  
Would you be interested in pursuing research avenues of healing outside of blood curses?  
When can we make an appointment for you to come to the DoM for an in-person meeting about your research?

_We await your response._

_Ministry of Magic_  
_Department of Mysteries_  
_Senior Administrator_  
_Unspeakable Hermione J Granger_

Harry, looking notably impressed as he ready to the end of the page, smiled at Draco when he was finished and handed back the parchment. “Looks like you have a lot to think about, don’t you?”

“Indeed, I do.” Draco smiled, turning back to his work, enjoying the lingering feeling of Harry’s hand on his shoulder before Harry turned and walked to the kitchen to make them tea. 

He set aside the DoM paperwork in favor of getting his social calls out of the way. Pulling the letter closest to him he read; 

_Draco,_

_Thank you for the copies of your books on magical creatures, they were ever so enlightening and fantastic! There’s very little that can beat an old, old book. They have deep meaning and hidden truths, if you know how to read between the lines. I most appreciated the sections on yetis and the majestic lochness._

_And thank you for the crocheted crumpled horn snorkack. I think you really captured their likeness from my descriptions. I can even use it as an educational tool to teach others about them._

_I hope your putting the yarn I sent you to good use. Greg loves his scarf and we miss you terribly. We can’t wait to see you in March._

_Love and holiday cheer,_  
_Luna and Greg_

Draco smiled to himself thinking about the ridiculous stuffed creature he had made for Luna. It was ghastly and deformed, but he knew Luna would love it anyways, the odd woman. He had been so thrilled for the bag of yarn she had sent him for Christmas. Wools, cottons, silk blends, and other soft and luxurious textures that his fingers were itching to make into more beautiful things. He scratched out a lengthy response to Luna before reaching out for the next letter. 

_Malfoy,_

_Hope you’re well. Thank you for the dragon mittens and for Fang’s sweater. He looks right adorable, and these mittens are the warmest I’ve ever had. Hope you’re able to get some good use out of that wolf fur I sent you. I remember you said that Luna spins wool, so I thought she could spin it for you into some yarn. They shed their undercoat in the spring so I collect it to felt blankets for small critters that need help, and I thought you’d like the extra. How neat would it be to have a scarf made of wolf yarn?_

_Anyways, happy holidays._

_Love,_  
_Hagrid_

Draco snorted at the memory of opening a bag full of what looked and smelled like shedded dog fur with the simple label: Wolf. Sure, it was soft, and yes, wolf yarn sounded pretty awesome, but it smelled like a wet dog and made him sneeze for twenty minutes. He would have to figure out how to make it usable with Luna when he got back to real life in March. Smiling fondly, he wrote back to Hagrid. 

Next was a letter he wrote to St. Mungo’s, confirming his return date to work with an accompanying summary on his progress with thestrals and unicorns. He also included his intentions to consult with the DoM, clarifying that his work schedule would now have to accommodate their needs as well as his. 

He worked his way through a stack of neglected letters, finally resting on his mothers. She had written a formal apology for her behavior on Christmas, as well as for his ‘inadequate’ childhood. It didn’t quite seem sincere, more a force of pureblood habit and impeccable social skills, and Draco bristled at the tone. 

He didn’t have anything to say to her quite yet, so he replaced it to the corner of his desk, and instead pulled out his final piece of parchment to write to Neville. 

He had been nervous about writing to Neville. He felt a lot of guilt for bullying the boy in school, for being a part of the group that hurt his parents, for being related to the woman who cast the curse, for also being a victim of Lestrange. But, when he finally got the courage to write to him two weeks ago and tell him that he was the one researching ways to help victims of psychological spell damage, Neville had been over the moon. 

He had written to Draco four times since, discussing potion and thestral theories, ways to improve his work. It had been a relief and a joy, actually. He and Neville really worked well together, and he was a refreshing burst of insight for his work. 

After finishing this final letter, he stood to take his small stack of scrolls to the cupboard in the corner for the house elves to deliver them.

_______________

That night laying in a tangle of limbs with Harry, under his thick duvet he thought about what the future would hold for him, for them. 

Draco was so proud of Harry for writing to Luna, for taking the steps necessary to keep himself sober. To peel back the layers. They were checking all the boxes to give this a real try out there in the real world. 

Harry’s deep, slow breathing indicated that he was fast asleep. Draco studied his soft, relaxed features, breathing in his familiar smell, and feeling the rise and fall of his chest under Draco’s hand. He was finally comfortable with the want he felt. It was okay to want someone this badly. It was okay to have these feelings. 

But, a new feeling was emerging from his depths, something acrid and stained, spreading its insidious tendrils around Draco. Something that had been keeping him up late these past nights, well beyond the time when Harry fell asleep. Draco was combating a new form of fear. One that was superseding his fear of being physically intimate. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to give Harry what he wanted, what he needed. He was afraid of his shortcomings and inadequacies. 

He was afraid that when they left the forest, Harry would get tired of waiting for Draco to be ready for him. And Draco wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to reopen himself in that way, even if it was with Harry. But if he didn’t, would Harry leave? Would he realize there were easier ways to get off than sitting around waiting for Draco to unpack the rest of his baggage? Draco wanted Harry, he really did, and perhaps that’s all it would take to push himself through the discomfort and just give Harry what he wanted. 

Give himself over, so Harry wouldn’t leave. 

The thought of anyone, even Harry, breaching him in that way again, of penetrating the place that was last violated by Lestrange, was a nauseating prospect. Even in his recent foray into constant self pleasure, he never once fingered himself. Never once tried to reach his prostate. It was a place he had yet to reconcile with after the trauma. A place too burdened with memories that threatened to drown him.

And, of course, Harry would want to top, wouldn’t he? The gorgeous and newly gay man laying next to him wouldn’t bottom, would he? No, Draco didn’t think so. Didn’t think Harry would allow Draco to take control like that, be opened in that way. 

He would just have to get over himself if he didn’t want to lose Harry, he thought to himself, resolve settling in his gut like a jagged rock.

Draco had already denied Harry when he had asked to move in together. He had felt so touched by the thought, by the offer, and felt a sinking guilt to say no. But, Draco needed Harry to figure out who he was and what he wanted on his own first. If they were going to be together out in the real world, Draco couldn’t be the foundations on which Harry built his sobriety. So, in the end, he had said no.

That no felt like a lead weight on his chest. A suffocating pressure that only felt heavier as they days slipped by. And with every passing moment, his worry about losing Harry increased.

He needed to do something before it was too late and he lost his chance. 

Taking a deep breath, he buried his face deeper into Harry’s hair and drew comfort from the familiarity of it. Trying to be as close to him as he could without waking him. He counted the days until their last night in the Hollow, and knew that his time was running out. Knew that on their last night he would have to do it. Have to get it over with. He had a month to work up the courage. In exactly one month, he would give himself to Harry and hope it was enough.


	24. All of the Goodbyes

All of the Goodbyes  
February 27, 2009

The day was here. Their last day. The time for all of their goodbyes. Harry and Draco had gone on a final hike in the morning, visiting their favorite places in their corner of the forest - the Rowan grove, Alice’s stream, the Unicorn fields, the Thestral cave. Saying their goodbyes, but recounting all of their memories, good and bad, laughing and joking with each other as the morning wore on. Harry hadn’t wanted it to end. 

Eventually, they circled back to Tenebris Hollow, their little stonework cabin such a familiar and comforting sight, tucked away next to the garden they had laboured over for so long, now ready to begin anew with spring growth once the final frost had cleared. But they wouldn’t be here for it. There would be no one to till the soil and plant new seeds. 

Harry rested his hand on their Wiggentree as he passed, whispering a final growth charm, and a word of thanks for it’s protection. At least it would remain sentry here, guardian of their little home. 

Harry and Draco both left out eggs for the eggeater, who had yet to awaken from hibernation, and would likely be furious that his keepers had up and left without a proper goodbye. Harry would miss the little miscreant. 

They stomped the snow from their boots and went inside to pack, carefully shrinking and stowing away everything they owned into a small box for Harry and a little suitcase for Draco. 

Harry only had his clothes, really, and many of his little carved figures, some half in progress, some finished. He decided to keep his knife, to keep working on them once at home. He had already slipped the sheet of meeting times and information from Luna, as well as Hermione's reply in the bottom of the box, safe and out of sight, out of mind.

When it came time to pack up the massive number of books (all Draco’s, really), they had a final laugh over the smut, and decided together to restash it behind the loose stone in the old bottom kitchen cupboard in the corner. Perhaps it would provide enlightenment for centuries to come. Harry was a bit sentimental handing over his copy of Quintessence of Debauchery, but, if he was honest with himself, he had memorised the whole play twice over by now. 

The day was full of stolen glances and secret looks between the two of them. Knowing smiles and nervous laughs. Harry insisted on standing with Draco in the kitchen and holding his hand while they cooked a final meal together. Of course, it was Indian food. Aloo gobi and paneer, naan aplenty. They ate until they were uncomfortably full, so much that they had to forego their traditional evening cup of tea together. 

That night, their last night, in bed together, Harry laying on his back and Draco curled up at his side, they spoke very little, each of them reflecting on the complex mix of emotions - the fact that this was it. The end of something beautiful and safe, something they had come to love, to cherish. And it was after the waxing crescent sliver had fallen from the sky, well beyond midnight, that Draco nudged Harry awake. 

“Harry.” He said softly, into the darkness, tracing his fingers along Harry’s bare stomach. 

“Mm.” Harry said in response, his hand slipping under Draco’s shirt to lay against his back, tracing the dimples he found there, lazily, still half asleep. 

But Draco was sitting up, pulling his leg over Harry, and sitting himself on top of Harry’s stirring erection, nothing but a thin layer of pyjama between him and Draco’s own underclothes. It was maddening, the sensation, the weight of his ass, Draco’s knees on either side of Harry’s hips. Draco leaned down, his hair falling forward into Harry’s face, his hands on his chest, fingers splayed out. His breath was on Harry’s lips. 

Harry was suddenly so very awake, startled, taken aback by this drastic change in their routine. By Draco taking control. He was fully hard in moments, and he had to keep his mouth closed over a groan lest it sound too wanton, too needy, too revealing. He had to stop himself from arching up against Draco, from pulling his hips down onto him. He needed Draco to show him what he needed. 

“Do you want me?” Draco asked softly, his lips just ghosting over Harry’s as he formed the words. 

“More than anything.” Harry said, nearly breathless, his heart pounding in his chest. 

And Draco was kissing him, just touching his lips to Harry’s softly, sweetly, tentatively. And Harry was right there, his hands under Draco’s shirt and running up his back, tasting his lips and his mind blank with desire, his mouth falling open, inviting something more, something deeper. He wanted it so badly. 

And Draco giving it to him. 

Harry had never kissed anyone like that in his life, eyes closed, desperate for more, moaning when Draco bit at his lower lip and leaning his head back for Draco to suck and bite at his neck, just as wanton, just as reckless. He had imagined kissing this man so many times before, thinking it would feel different than kissing a woman, than kissing Ginny. It was different, but not in the way he anticipated. He thought it would be rough and chaotic - but this, his lips were so soft and gentle and then insistent and hungry all at once. And Harry was melting against him. 

Harry was panting, his body rocking beneath Draco, pressing his undeniably hard cock up against him, his stomach taught and his mind nothing but the sounds of their breathing and the weight of him against his cock, and oh fuck the noises Draco would make when Harry’s hands would slip lower and grab the fullness of his ass. Little gasps and muffled moans against his neck. 

And Draco leaned down further to kiss his naked chest, and Harry felt the distinct hardness of Draco’s own cock pressed up against his abdomen, next to his own, and he groaned, no longer shy of how turned on he was, knowing Draco was feeling the same. 

Draco.

His eyes were closed and he was sucking and biting and Harry’s chest, his own hips rolling over Harry’s cock as he moaned. He was beautiful and overcome with it all. 

He was overcome with it all. 

“Draco.” Harry said, softly at first. But there was no response, his lips kissing further down his stomach now, his hands sliding toward the flimsy waistband of his bottoms. 

“Draco.” Harry said again, more forcefully this time, reaching down to lift his chin and raise his face to his own, his other hand stopping his hands from going further, down to his cock. 

“Look at me, Draco.” Harry said, his voice firm. Draco raised his gaze to Harry’s, his lips full and swollen, parted with each shuddering breath. His eyes looked glazed, his face slack. 

“Is this really what you want, Draco? What you want, not what you think I want.” Harry asked, pushing away the absolute desperation of his cock and focusing in on the man before him. 

Draco had been so slow and shy for months. He had been careful, controlled, nervous and measured. This Draco before him looked beautiful and like a god of pleasure, a nymph, but empty, vacant. He knew Draco’s dissociation of panic, and this looked too eerily similar, a ghost of the same visage. 

“You said you wanted me.” Draco said, his voice husky, almost unnatural, almost angry. 

“Of course I do, Draco. But, if I’m being honest, we’re going a little too quickly for me. And, I’m not sure it’s what I want. For us. I want to go slow. This is my first time, for any of this, after all.” Harry said softly, probably blushing, trying to guide Draco back up to the bed beside him. 

“I get it, Potter.” Draco said, his features going hard and cold, pulling away from Harry’s gentle hold on his arm. “It’s all fun and games to play house, but when it comes down to it, you’re not for cock, you’re not gay, you might as well have just told me you prefer pussy.” 

Harry stared, his mouth agape. “It’s not that at all, Draco, honestly.” 

Draco put a hand up to stop him mid sentence. “It’s fine, Potter. But you could’ve told me before the fucking months I’ve spent trying to work up to letting you fuck me. Get the fuck out of my bed.” 

Harry was still staring, completely shocked, unable to formulate a reply. How could Draco think that? How could Draco imagine that he didn’t want him just the same? How could he think he wasn’t just as attracted to him? He was just… shy. He was inexperienced. He was concerned that Draco was rushing it to get things over with, and that’s not how he wanted things between them. If they weren’t both going to enjoy it, then it didn’t need to happen. And why did Draco assume Harry wanted to fuck him? They hadn’t even talked about it. And, if Harry was honest with himself, he had always fantasized bottoming their first time, anyway. 

“Draco, I promise, it’s not like that. Please.” Harry said, tears welling up in his eyes. He was so hurt, so confused, so taken aback by how Draco had responded. He couldn’t think straight. 

“Get out, Potter. Get the fuck out.” Draco hissed, pulling his blankets back from Harry, staring daggers at him. His eyes were dark and cold and Harry really was drowning this time, lost in the tempestuous tide that was Draco Malfoy.

“Okay.” Harry said, softly, getting up. He felt wrecked. Ruined. He felt sorry, but jilted, hurt. Tears were running down his cheeks and he turned to get up out of the bed before Draco could see. 

Harry pulled his sweater and hat on, the purple ones Draco had knit him for Christmas, even, and his boots. 

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, watching Harry, his eyes still narrow, but a hint of fear beneath the false bravado of his voice. 

“Out.” Harry said, his voice thick, throwing his jacket on over the sweater and pushing open the door, before he lost his nerve. Before he apologised to Draco for something he didn’t do wrong, for something he didn’t regret. 

He hadn’t even left the garden before he apparated, twisting in the deep snow, a whimper burning in his throat. 

His feet landed uneven on the ground before him, and he fell to his knees, letting out a sob and openly crying out into the surrounding silence, his voice carrying around the high walls of the canyon, snow falling softly around him. 

He knelt in the snow, his chest burning with the cold, his body shivering, but his mind elsewhere. What had gone wrong? What had just happened? 

A soft and rhythmic thudding sound made Harry raise his head up, peering out into the dark of the slate riverbed, the crevasse where he had taught Draco to cast his patronus. A place Draco had felt safe, and Harry had felt like there could be more between them, like there was a hope that they were meant to fall together - that their fates were just as intertwined as they had always been, but, this time, they weren’t on opposite sides of a war, but on the same side of the struggle. The struggle to find someone who could love them for who they were, who could look at their broken, damaged selves and see nothing but the promise of happiness, see nothing but worth. 

Out of the darkness ahead of Harry emerged a thestral, slowly plodding through the fresh layer of thick snow, huffing breaths of steam from flaring nostrils, moving up the riverbed from further South. It was massive and as black as the moonless night, the light only able to catch his bones moving eerily beneath the sheen of his stretched skin.

Harry watched it approach, still kneeling, still sniffling back tears and still crumbling beneath the weight of Draco asking him to leave. Of Draco casting him out. Of Draco hurting him. 

The giant creature ambled up to Harry and slowly stepped around his left, circling behind him, nuzzling his steaming breaths into Harry’s reddened face, muddying the streaks of his tears. 

Behind Harry, the thestral opened his massive wings, and dropped slowly onto its heavy forelimbs, gingerly laying down, its side tucked up against Harry’s back, scooping him up beneath one of his massive wings as he refolded them to his sides, drawing Harry close. 

Without thinking, Harry curled up against the leathery hide, surprisingly soft and warm, closing his eyes and fighting back against the dread that had filled him. He was still safe. He could survive this. He had come this far.

And eventually, soothed by the slow drumming of the thestral’s beating heart and quiet motions of it’s deep breaths, Harry fell asleep.


	25. Run, Just Run

Run, Just Run  
February 28, 2009

Draco had watched in stunned horror as Harry walked straight out the door of their cottage, and hearing the crack of apparition felt like he had been electrocuted, shocked out of his stupor. 

Harry was gone. 

He was _gone._

Draco dragged in a strangled breath and choked out a sob of pure agony as terror gripped him. Draco had kicked him out and now he was probably out back in muggle London, relapsing. And it was entirely Draco’s fault. Even if it wasn’t logical, even if Harry had shown no warning signs of breaking his sobriety, Draco’s panic was beyond reason. His mind took him to the worst possible scenario and wouldn’t let him leave. 

What the fuck had he done? Why did he push himself on Harry? Harry, who was just as scared of their intimacy as Draco. Harry, who had never kissed a boy before. Draco dropped his head in his hands, gripping his hair painfully, and cried out into the empty cottage. Little dipper hooting softly at Draco in response. 

He had never felt more foolish, more lonely, or more guilty. Tears streaming down his face, he tried to drag more oxygen into his lungs but there didn’t seem to be any air left in the room. The familiar tingling in his limbs threatening to take his mind and awareness away from himself. 

He was shaking, and terrified for Harry, as he reached over for his wand and desperately tried to cast a patronus to ask Harry to come back, to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. 

_“Expecto patronum!”_ He cried, lips numb. Nothing happened. 

He tried and tried to pull his happy memories forward, but thoughts of Harry dying of an overdose, trapped in the tomb of Sirius’ old bedroom, clouded his thoughts.

_“Expecto patronum!”_ He sobbed again, vision tunneling. Still nothing. 

He tried and tried, repeating it over and over. His panic dragging him further and further under. Each failed attempt fueling the burning fear in him. Harry was surely dying.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat, immobilized by fear and heartbreak, sobbing and repeating the incantation like it was the only thing keeping Harry alive, but eventually he was finally overcome by his panic attack and he lost consciousness on his bunk, wand still gripped in his hand. 

________________

Draco woke early the next morning with a start. He jumped out of his bed, weary on his feet, limbs still heavy with sleep. “Harry?” He called. It felt like the bottom had dropped out of his life. When no one responded, tears sprang forward with shocking readiness. 

The sun was coming up, and Draco saw that there were two thestrals staring in through the kitchen window. He couldn’t tell if their presence soothed or worried him. Were they here to take him to Harry? Was Harry injured? Was he alive? 

He dragged his layers on in a hurry and shoved on his boots as he walked to the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the bitter cold morning. 

“Where’s Harry?” He asked the thestrals, realizing one of them was Voileami. They turned slowly and began walking towards him. 

“Voileami, where is he? Is he okay?” She didn’t react as if she wanted to take him anywhere, instead she nimbly walked up to him and pressed the whole length of her face into his torso and gently rubbed it against the scratchy fabric of his sweater. 

Tears streamed down his face as he stroked her neck and the sides of her face. Through his blurry vision he could see the second thestral moving closer, and others coming out of the trees towards him. 

“Why are you here?” He whispered to his friend. 

They didn’t provide an answer, they just came and circled him, nudging him, and rubbing their faces against him. 

“I just want to know if he’s okay.” He said pathetically. He realized now, in the light of day, that Harry was probably very much safe from a relapse, but hurt by Draco’s behavior, nonetheless. He had probably gone back to London. To give Draco the space he had demanded from Harry. Draco felt ashamed of himself, of how he had acted. How he had kicked Harry out after all they had been through together. 

He stood there in the biting cold, in too few layers, shivering against the icy wind that swept through the yard, wondering what the fuck to do. 

He and Harry had packed all their belongings the day before. They had planned to apparate back to London together before going their separate ways. Now, it was just Draco. Harry had left his things, so surely he would be back at some point for them, but Draco didn’t think he could face Harry. Didn’t think he could stand to wait. 

He wiped the tears from his face, sniffling his frozen nose and steeling himself to make his move. “I have to go.” He said softly to Voileami. 

She nibbled at his hand with her velvety beak as she backed up to give him space. As if taking the hint from her, the other thestrals followed suit and retreated. 

He breathed out a sigh of gratitude before he turned and walked back into the cottage. It already seemed cold and derelict with their things packed and Harry gone. 

He picked up his suitcase full of everything he owned and stood staring around the room that he had called home for the last year. 

He fought another upsurge of tears as he pulled his wand out and transfigured their bunk bed back into a single cot. 

There was only one thing left to do now. 

Pulling out a scrap of parchment and a quill he wrote with shaking hands. 

_Harry,_

_I’m sorry. I hope you can see now why this could never work between us._

_Work on you and your recovery. You have your whole life ahead of you. It would be easier if we didn’t contact one another._

_DM_

He left the note sitting on the table as he grabbed his things. He turned on the spot, feeling his way into that familiar crushing darkness as he shattered through Harry’s protective wards and enchantments, and left the Hollow for the last time.


End file.
